Another Way Out
by Kyia Star
Summary: AU. IYxFMA Chap 4 up! They have a shrine to find, but first they have to deal with the unfriendly inhabitants of the island. Hughes is still searching for why Ed and Al are allowed to search for the Philosopher's Stone.
1. Prologue

Mutant plot bunnies that were once dust bunnies are responsible for this latest idea (Damn you, mutant plot bunnies!). Anyhow, I don't own _Fullmetal Alchemist_ or _Inuyasha_. Enjoy and please review. Thanks go to TitianWren for beta-reading and giving the first opinion and to Kracken l.w. who gave another opinion, support, and arguements.

Prologue--

She fought it every step of the way, fought _him_. And still he won as she climbed the steps to Central's library, an ancient text clutched in her hands. Still he had her heart. She left the book with the librarians with instructions that it was for Edward Elric the next time he was in. If he was still searching for the Philosopher's Stone, the book just might be of some use.

They couldn't promise. The alchemist wasn't seen at Central much, especially since his commanding officer was located in the East. Besides, he was always traveling, either for the State, or personal business.

She knew how to read between the lines. In other words, personal meant questing for the stone. The next time you see him, then.

But this aroused suspicion. Why was she so interested?

A faint smile ghosted over her lips. She was only trying to be helpful. She'd heard the rumors of the State's youngest alchemist searching for the stone, that was all. As an after thought in passing: she too, was familiar with the high price of mistakes. She didn't give them time to ask more questions; she merely turned and walked away.

_That wasn't so bad_, a voice cooed in her mind. _You did well. Very well._

Heartless creature.

She felt a deep rumble vibrate in her stomach and through her body, as if he'd pressed his face there and laughed. That amused him, just as this latest deception would undoubtedly do. Get the boy interested in a jewel that could grant a wish and pit him against Inuyasha and his gang. Wouldn't it be grand if the dog demon's sword rendered him into pieces, or if the monk's kaazana sucked them in? Whatever happened, it would serve the core purpose: to keep the half demon busy for a while. Underneath the sickness and misery pounding through her body, she felt desperation. Something had to keep the hanyou busy. The Shichinin-tai had failed. A waste of power and shikon shards.

She didn't know how he would work the well. Didn't care to. He wouldn't tell her, either. That would spoil his fun.

He receded with one last chuckle to the depths of her soul. Did she have a soul? She often wondered about that. He was now asleep; her thoughts were free— until he woke up again, that is. She thought that Inuyasha or Sesshomaru had killed him, but if he still held her then he wasn't dead, obviously. No, not yet, not if the Shichinin-tai had all been killed again. She was hopeful, however.

She glanced at the gray sky that threatened rain and reflected that it had been a clear night when she'd asked Sesshomaru to help her betray Naraku and destroy him. Instead of asking for help, she should have asked him to kill her. Death would be better than this.

_It could be arranged._

Her lips compressed into a thin line: he was awake again.

Thunder rumbled warningly as the skies opened up, and rain started to fall softly but grew in strength steadily until it was a downpour. Pushing wet bangs out of her face, she continued walking. She frowned. He didn't understand. She wanted to _die_ not be re-absorbed.

There was no response— wouldn't be one, either. Her misery doubled with the pounding rain. It was 1927 and Kikyo's reincarnation hadn't yet been born. She would be in about sixty more years by her calculations. Math wasn't her strong suit, however. And to top it all off, somehow _he_ had managed to come to her, here, in this time.

_I never left you. I live inside you, my daughter—my twin._

So that explained the time difference, or lack of.

She knew that deep down he was afraid of Inuyasha and his group. She ignored his snarl and continued to walk down the sidewalk, longing for her comfortable kimono, rather than the long, straight skirt and severe blouse that she wore. Her fan banged into her back with every step and threatened to fall through the skirt. At least with the kimono she could hide her weapon in the sleeve, she thought, grimacing.

He was afraid, because he was still half human in the worst way possible: his heart. Inuyasha had been born a half demon, unlike Naraku who was created of many demons stuffed into a mortal soul. For as fearsome as he was, he had another fear: losing power and returning to a weak, helpless human, and she knew it. That was why he'd protect her no matter what the cost. He wouldn't let her die if it meant losing her power.

Next time around, she would ask for death. Because she knew the high price of mistakes, too.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter one: A curious (but uncooperative) book.

_Disclaimer_: I don't own _Fullemtal Alchemist_ or _Inuyasha_. A large thanks goes out to my beta-reader TitianWren for her awesome work. …And for not screeching at me for the three a.m. typing mistakes in the very first draft. To those that reviewed my prologue, I thank you very much. To those that didn't, I ask that should you re-click on the link to this story that you leave me a review. I haven't found too many FMA/IY crossovers and I'm interested to know what people think of this one. Okay, I'll admit it: I crave opinions. …Opinions, not flames— there is a difference between the two and I do not accept flames under any circumstance. Forgive any grammatical mistakes in the disclaimer and notes.

………

_Everything is going according to plan._

Monster!

_Now, now. Flattery will get you nowhere._ He watched from the shadows as he always did. The monk had been correct: he didn't like to sully his hands. Either way, he was a schemer. He made things work for him while he viewed from afar. This time however, he watched from his incarnation's eyes. She fought him so vehemently when he tried to take control of her body that in the end, he compromised with her. He didn't want to admit it—he would, though only to himself— but he simply didn't have the strength to fight her; his hold was tenuous at best. Inuyasha and Sesshomaru weren't making things easier for him; his attention was constantly divided, even now.

She stood in the deep shadows of a pillar cast by the strong morning sunlight as they both watched the book being handed over to a military officer.

_Excellent._

………

The book had aroused suspicion from the librarian. The whole situation was just strange to her. With the alchemist killer —code-named Scar— still on the loose, no one could be too careful. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes of Investigations stood outside the library proper and turned the book over in his hands as he listened to the librarian describe the person who had delivered it. Nodding to her absent-mindedly, he opened the first few pages and skimmed them, a frown crossing his face. The librarian whose name he still didn't know watched him, waiting expectantly. Noticing this, he smiled and pulled a picture of his daughter from his pocket and shoved it into her face.

"I'm so sorry!" Kagura heard him say. "How rude of me not to have shown you earlier! She's three and riding a tricycle. She follows me everywhere on it. Why, if my Gracia didn't take her inside every now and then, she'd have followed me here! Isn't she just the cutest thing ever?" he asked, becoming more and more animated with every word.

The librarian gave a weak, non-committal response and hustled back into the library as fast as she could. Kagura's body shook with silent laughter. That was one way of getting people away from you. And he probably planned it that way, too.

The investigator watched her go with a depressed look on his face, the book hanging limply in his right hand. Dejectedly, he stuffed the picture back into his pocket and pouted for a moment. Then his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the proud, if slightly obsessed father. That cool, blank look returned and his spine became ramrod straight. It was like watching a possessed man fight. Or rather, Kagura thought, like watching Inuyasha fight his demon blood. _Where did he find the strength,_ she wondered, allowing her thoughts to wander for the moment to the enigmatic half-demon. Naraku always belittled him for a weak fool; the former human bandit still hadn't been able to defeat him, though. _Was it his heart,_ she wondered, absently rubbing the empty spot in her breast.

Turning, the Lieutenant Colonel looked around as if to make sure that he wasn't being spied upon. His lively green eyes swept over the area including her hiding spot, and she scuttled deeper into the refuge of the shadows. She breathed when his gaze didn't linger. Instead, it landed on someone behind her. Whirling around, Hughes walked away with the book clutched tightly in his hand. Kagura turned and looked at the woman who leaned casually against another one of the pillars. She frowned at her and received a smirk in return. Taking the time, she studied the girl. A formfitting black dress that was much too fancy for both the time of day and overall weather hugged her body. The formal wear included elbow-length gloves and high-heeled shoes. But what caught her attention most was the scarlet tattoo that sat in plain sight on her chest: a hexagram and an ourobouros. Catching the wind-demoness's glance, the strange woman turned and began to walk away from library.

_Curious,_ Kagura thought.

Back in his office, Hughes tipped his chair back and leaned his head into his palms. He looked down at the book as if expecting it to grow legs and walk away. No such luck. It simply sat there and stared blandly back at him. Lowering his arms, he winced as the blood rushed down again. Putting the chair back on all fours, he picked up a pencil and jabbed the sharpened end at the text. It didn't so much as move.

"I could bring you home to my daughter," he told it, conversationally, holding up the pencil and studying it. "Who knows what she'd do to you, though?" he asked, lowering his gaze back to the text. "Gracia says she's going through that destructive stage all kids have." Pulling the picture out of his pocket, he kissed it. "She's just too adorable!" he crowed.

Not that the book cared. It still stayed in place.

"Unbothered by that, are you? Well. You're braver than you look."

Hughes studied it a few moments longer. It was obvious that it was just a book. Still, there had to be something strange about it if the librarian waited _outside_ the library to tell him about it. He frowned. More like she'd accosted him. Tipping his head to the side, he began to chew on the eraser, momentarily forgetting the book and focusing on what his impromptu interview with the woman had yielded.

_The day before —when it was dropped off— had been gray, threatening rain, and stormy._

Not important. The entire week had been miserable and wet. That was the problem with summer, he thought. Heat evaporated moisture, which in turn produced cloud buildup and then got rid of the water by raining.

_It was delivered by a woman._

All right, a point. But not especially important. Was there anything about her?

_She was of medium height, short black hair tied into a knot and decorated with feathers; she had red eyes, white skin, and gave off the impression of being extremely fragile._

Interesting. A coy woman, it seemed. Were it not for the white skin, he'd have thought her to be an Ishballan.

_About her eyes. They were so…_

So what?

_ Empty. Her entire face was like that. Except for that… that perverse smirk on her lips. But her eyes scared me._

Hmm. He filed that away. Anything else?

_She looked like she was fighting something tooth and nail._

You said her face was completely blank.

_It was. But the way she walked… it seemed like she struggled— with something._

Strange. What was she fighting against? It wasn't a rhetorical question. If someone struggled to rebel but to no avail, then why? What could cause such an internal fight like that? And what did the mysterious opponent have as a control? Curiouser and curiouser. Where did the answers lie? Maes made a mental note to himself to try and find the woman and talk to her.

_And one more thing._

Yes?

_Her departing comment was strange. She said as an afterthought that she too was familiar with the high price of mistakes._

Well, now. That was interesting. Perhaps what she fought against had to do with that particular statement. He picked up the book and held it up to the light. Just what kind of mistakes have you committed, he wondered, going over it all again and trying to find more clues. But no answers were forthcoming; he didn't even have a theory. Too many questions and not enough in the way of puzzle pieces. Lowering the book, he began to look through it again. As he leafed through, a curious frown crept onto his face. It was a strange old text. Why hadn't it fallen apart yet? The parchment was yellow and brittle, the ink should have smeared from the oil in his fingers, and yet the tome was sturdy and in good condition. Almost unheard of. His frown deepened at the contents… or rather, lack of expected material. He was no alchemist, but even he was familiar with the Philosopher's Stone. But it wasn't even mentioned.

There was also a disturbing lack of transmutation circles. Instead, he found himself reading about a sword made from a demon's teeth. "'Tokijin, the _Ogre War-god_ was forged by the wicked sword-smith Kaijin-bo from the fangs of Goshinki, the demon that once bit the Tetsusaiga in two. While meant to be able to beat the _Steel-Cleaving Fang_, it sadly fell short and was merely a match, though some say that was the fault of the sword's bearer,'" he read out loud to the empty room.

Closing the book, he put it down. If that was an alchemy text it was written in better code than he'd ever encountered. Either way, the tome wasn't going to yield its secrets to him. He stared at the desk, not really seeing it. Another thing he knew was that Central wouldn't provide him with answers either. Not with the hawks watching him —or rather, hounds. Military dogs, as Ed was fond of saying. Did that insult apply to him, seeing as he was part of the military? Probably. But then, Ed was still a kid and idealistic. When he was grown, he wouldn't be so jaded. Hopefully.

The only person Maes really trusted was Roy. But he was at their headquarters in the East. He blinked. Unconsciously, his gaze traveled back to the book as if drawn there. Ed was also in the East. After all, he answered to Mustang— much to his dislike. The mystery (or was that mysteries?) was becoming muddier and muddier. He had the strong feeling that somehow, someway, probably using him, the book would end up in the hands of the Fullmetal Alchemist. But not before Roy got to look at it.

But how to get to the East? He leaned his chin in his palm and thought. Mail was out of the question, not with the hawks that watched everything. …Scar. The rumor-mill was aflame with the whisperings that the bigwigs had worn the Fuhrer down and were all going out to the East. They wanted King Bradley safely away from Central HQ in order to protect him from Scar. Stupid, really. If Scar was after state alchemists, he'd leave the Fuhrer alone. In all his years with the military Hughes had never heard of the Fuhrer being an alchemist or even dabbling in it.

Grabbing the book, he slipped it into his jacket—a precaution, just to make sure, and ventured into the honeycomb hallways of Central. The newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel walked to where he knew King Bradley's office was. Looking at the receptionist, a pretty thing with brown hair and doe-brown eyes he asked if he couldn't have an audience with the Fuhrer at his earliest convenience. Picking up the phone, the girl called and surprised him with the news that Fuhrer Bradley would see him and he could go right on in. With trepidation, he walked into the office of the most powerful man in the state.

Inside the office, he found the Brigadier General Gran, King Bradley's secretary, and the Fuhrer himself packing documents and such into a briefcase. The man paused this action and looked up at Hughes with his ever-present smile. Reverting to military protocol, he saluted King Bradley and waited for the man to give him permission to speak.

"Now, now, Lieutenant Colonel, at ease. What can I do for you?"

He relaxed slightly. "I hear that you and a few others are headed to our East HQ, sir."

There was a pregnant pause as King Bradley stopped his packing; his secretary looked up, and Gran stared. Juliet Douglas whipped out paper and pen and began to take notes while the Brigadier General began to splutter.

"Who told— how would you know that, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?"

Inwardly, he smirked; it wasn't often that someone managed to surprise the Iron Blood Alchemist. The smirk began to light his eyes up. God, he was enjoying this, though Gran would make his life hell for it later. The Brigadier General's face was beginning to turn a splotchy red as he continued to stutter. It was brought to a halt when the Fuhrer's laughter sounded in the room.

"Well done, Lieutenant Colonel," he complimented, a large smile on his face. Not that Hughes could ever recall seeing him without one, that is. "We certainly do get our money's worth with you in investigations."

"Thank you, sir," he replied.

"Well, now that you know," Gran said, "what do you want?"

His eyes flicked to the secretary— who was wearing her hand out recording every little thing— and he said, "I would like to request permission to go with, sir."

"Out of the question!" Gran said immediately. "You are not an alchemist. There's no need for you to come with us. Your place is here at Central."

"On the contrary, Brigadier General, sir. In case you hadn't noticed, Scar seems to be pretty well in-tune with State Alchemists. Doubtless he knows that we have some in the East. Besides, he seems to know every move we make."

"Then it's possible we have a leak, isn't it?"

The malicious implication was not lost on Hughes. "Quite possible, sir. I'll put my men on that theory," he said coolly. "And in case you're wondering, some of the men I respect most are State Alchemists," he commented, thinking of Roy, Armstrong, and even Ed. He leveled a cold glare at the other man and received one in return.

"That's enough you two," Bradley said.

"Sir!" they said in unison, neither glare lessening.

"Brigadier General, I don't for one moment believe my men would sell out any member of the military. Is there another thought you have, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Yes, sir. If Scar is headed to the East, then we may be able to catch him there."

"Go on."

"Sir, situations in the East are unstable at best. Scar will likely run into problems there with all the upheavals. I'm also counting on the hope that he doesn't know the lay of the land all that well."

"Well said, Lieutenant Colonel. Very well, go home and pack. We leave at Zero Five Hundred."

Hughes saluted. "Thank you, sir!"

"Dismissed."

Saluting once again, Hughes made his way out of the office. Pausing in the hallway, he put a hand on his chest and simply breathed. He couldn't believe that he'd pulled it off.

………

Bradley watched Gran storm out with his customary smile in place. It dropped once the man was out of his office. He turned to his secretary watching as she wrote a few last minute notes. Laying her pen down, she met his eye and an understanding look passed between them: the Lieutenant Colonel needed watching. It was possible that he suspected something involving all of them.

0500—

Maes slouched in a train seat and yawned widely. What was it with the military and early? He didn't even get the chance to say goodbye to his daughter! His poor Elysia!

The seat across from him was suddenly occupied, which snapped him from his funk. He opened his eyes blearily and blinked a few times, focusing on Brigadier General Basque Gran. Hughes was delighted to see that all the other seats were taken, including the ones nearest to the Fuhrer. It seemed that no one wanted the Iron Blood Alchemist to sit near them— what an opportunity! Smiling mischievously, he whipped out a picture from his pocket and shoved it into the Brigadier General's face. Why should he be bored the entire trip?

"She's three now. Isn't she just the cutest thing _ever_? Here she's wearing mommy's hat at the pool. She's so precious!"

Gran felt a vein in his forehead start to throb. Why didn't Scar go after annoying men with photographs in lieu of alchemists?

………

First Lieutenant Hawkeye all but ran down the hall to Mustang's office. She knew that he was in a meeting with Edward and that he wouldn't appreciate being bothered, but he'd like it even less if Gran just burst on in. Said man was a few feet behind her. Upon reaching the door, she threw it open and focused on her superior's straight back. He wasn't going to like this at all.

"Company, sir!" she announced as the others reached the door.

Mustang half-turned to watch men enter his office with military precision. He turned fully, coming face-to-face with Brigadier General Gran, who stood in the forward center and stared at him, as if silently daring the Colonel to evict him. Hawkeye was right: he wasn't pleased. He barely managed to stop the growl that threatened to claw its way past his throat. But he did and looked away before he did something that would not only demote him, but land him in military court. Something occurred to him: most of the men in the room were State Alchemists… and Ed was in the room, too. His body tensed: if they'd come to take him away… although why, he couldn't imagine. Traveling his dark eyes down the line of men, he searched for a familiar face. Armstrong… well, if he had to, he could deal with the man. Next to him…

Hughes.

His eyes rested on perhaps his only true friend in the military— the one who promised to help him and continued to support him. Seeing Roy look at him, the Lieutenant Colonel abandoned his attention stance and shrugged with a sheepish grin of apology at the intrusion. Mustang's face softened and his mouth relaxed just a hair before he turned back to the Iron Blood Alchemist. No, Ed wasn't going anywhere. What good would Hughes be against someone of Ed's caliber?

He would never tell the blond young man, but he was more fond of Ed than he'd ever guess. In the years that he'd known the automail-branded boy, he'd come to think of him as a younger brother; he even teased him as such. He hadn't been in Resembool by accident the night he'd first met Hohenheim's sons. He'd been there originally to talk to Pinako Rockbell… to beg forgiveness for what he'd done to Winry's parents. Searching for the elder Elric had merely been his excuse for going to the country. That fateful night, as rain sluiced down upon his soaked body, he'd tried to work up the courage to venture down the hill and up to the door.

He'd been saved by the lights of a transmutation in progress. But he knew… he'd seen those colors before. The alchemist inside was going to fail. Mustang hadbeen rescued by two children who'd been trying to bring back their mother. What a pitiful coward he was, finding refuge in such a thing. He remembered watching a suit of armor run over to the Rockbell residence like a demon chased after it, a bundle held carefully in arms of steel. After that, it had been easy to walk down that lolling hill and knock on that door.

Schooling his face back to impassiveness, he came to attention and lifted his right hand to his superior. The Brigadier General did not salute back. Instead, he watched Mustang with that same smug, condescending expression in his eyes that Mustang remembered from prior experience. He well and truly hated the Iron Blood Alchemist.

"What brings me this pleasant surprise, Brigadier General?" he asked as a mere formality.

"As of today, we'll be taking over this East HQ as our temporary Central Command."

His eyes narrowed at that. _Oh, really? Pray, tell._ "May I ask what's wrong with the one in Central, sir?"

Not that Gran would answer. The two alchemists didn't talk much. The Brigadier General didn't get the chance to say anything, however. Rich laughter floated through the open door. Surprise openly transformed the Colonel's face and caused his hand to waver from its salute; a startled noise escaped his throat involuntarily. Gran and another soldier stepped neatly to the side, allowing King Bradley access to the office. Ed still hadn't moved.

"I know, Mustang."

_What_ did he know? Roy could never figure that out.

"I asked the same thing." King Bradley walked in with a large, welcoming smile stretched on a lightly tanned face, with his right hand held up in a peace-offering gesture. His secretary, Juliet, followed behind him, her head bowed in what looked to be subservience. Always she reminded Roy of a whipped dog.

"Sorry for the hassle," King Bradley said jubilantly. "Everybody at ease now." He hadn't seemed to notice Ed's lack of salute. If he did, he didn't seem to care.

Lowering his arm, the Colonel said in a surprised voice, "Fuhrer Bradley— welcome, sir." Mustang didn't miss Ed's noise of surprise. He could only imagine the fifteen-year-old's face.

Gran took over again. "Your job is not to ask questions, Colonel. The Fuhrer and his staff will run this place, both to operate as Central Command and observe the region. I trust you'll make us comfortable."

The Brigadier's tone had become like his expression. It didn't escape Roy's notice that Gran was part of the Fuhrer's staff. He had a feeling that it wasn't meant to. His eyes narrowed at the other alchemist. Oh, he'd make him comfortable, all right— with a bed of flames. He'd always held a hatred for the power-hungry creature. The only question was charred or extra crispy.

Later that evening…

Hughes picked up his scotch and took a liberal swallow, listening to the ice clink softly against the glass. It matched the muted atmosphere, he thought. The bar was quiet and dark in a sultry manner. It was meant to make the tension leak out of a person in one way or another. So far, it wasn't working. He wanted to be at home with his wife and daughter, not here wondering how Ed would react when he learned the truth about the current situations in Lior. Maes was perhaps the only one who knew just how protective Roy was of those boys, especially Ed. Underneath the sarcasm and cockiness was a human being packed with enough guilt and pain to literally choke on. A man with a weaker spirit would have committed suicide by now. Not that Roy hadn't tried. Helping those boys achieve their goal helped him, though. It helped to balance the equation. Alchemy was about equivalent exchange. To Hughes's mind, it was about balance. Equivalent exchange created a balance— the typical picture of a balance was a pair of scales. They were what Roy tried to balance. After everything that had happened in the past, he paid penance by helping life —those boys specifically. Which was why Maes was certain he wasn't going to like this. He only hoped Roy didn't torch the book… and the building. The polyurethane on the wood was extremely flammable.

"By the way, Roy," he started.

Mustang glanced at him and took a sip of his drink.

"Something was dropped off for Edward back at Central," he said, reaching into his jacket and grabbing the book.

That sparked the man's interest. "Really, now. What is it?"

Removing the book, he silently handed it over to his friend.

"A book, hmm?" Putting his drink down, he took the red-bound volume from Hughes and looked at him. "Why didn't you give it to Ed before our fight?" he asked, curiously.

"I wanted you to look at it first," came the low answer. "I want you to see it before it gets to him."

"Maes…"

"Listen, Roy," he said, watching the alchemist from his peripheral vision. "The librarian was so concerned that she waited _outside_ the library to bring it to my attention."

Mustang stared at him.

"The woman who delivered it," he continued now staring into his glass, "said that it was for Ed if he was still searching for the Philosopher's Stone."

The Flame Alchemist touched his fingers to his chin and looked at the book, much like Hughes had done. Once again Maes had been right on target— this bothered him. "I know Ed's become popular with the people as of late, but a mere civilian in Central shouldn't know of his hunt for the stone."

"Correct. Apparently, the book is supposed to help him."

"Help him _how_?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that."

Roy smirked. "Need me to translate the technical alchemy stuff, Maes?"

Hughes returned the smirk with a good-natured grin. "Sure do. I'm normal remember? You're the freak."

"Ha, ha," came the dry response. With his trademark smirk still in place, he opened the tome. Curious, there was no title on the cover, either. All at once, his smirk disappeared and his brow drew down as he skimmed the material inside. "What kind of alchemy book _is_ this?" he asked, a frown emblazoned on his face as he rapidly flipped the pages, searching for anything of alchemic value.

"You, too?"

Halting his assault on the book, he looked up at Hughes. Looking down again, he read the words where his hand was. "I don't understand what a sword called Tetsusaiga has to do with the Philosopher's Stone," he said, snapping the book closed.

"Hmm," Maes said, nodding. "The Tetsusaiga, or Steel-Cleaving Fang was bitten in half. Goshinki, the demon that broke it, was forged into the Tokijin. Well, his fangs were, at least," he said, taking possession of the text, flipping to the page, and glancing at it to make sure he was correct. "Yep. Because the fangs that bit the Tetsusaiga in half made the Tokijin, it was supposed to be a match for the Steel-Cleaving Fang. But it fell short."

Roy stared at his friend as if a second head had suddenly sprouted. "The Tokijin," he repeated carefully.

"Yep," Hughes replied, smirking at Roy's confused face.

The flame-wielding alchemist shook his head slightly and blinked. Gripping the book in his long fingers, he gently relieved his friend of it. "What I don't get," he said, closing it and setting it onto the bar, "is what that has to do with alchemy. An alchemist might be able to break down teeth— or in this case fangs— and make a blade. Ed could probably do it. But that has nothing to do with the Philosopher's Stone."

"Perhaps it does."

"What? Maes," Roy said, picking the book up again and flipping to a random page. "Listen. 'Along with the demon-slayer Sango is a creature called Kirara,'" he read, stumbling over the pronunciation. "'A feline nekomanta demon that can shift sizes.'"

"A code, maybe."

That halted Mustang's next comment. Grudgingly, he had to admit that Maes was potentially on the money. "If it is," he said, "it's a hell of a code." Handing the book back, he shrugged. "Go on, give it to him. Let's see if he can figure it out."

With a tight-lipped smile, Hughes slid the book back into his jacket. Roy stared morbidly into his drink. He had a very bad feeling about that book. Funny— he was a military officer and a scientist. He didn't believe in "bad feelings." And yet, this one just wouldn't go away after he rejected it. It sat in his stomach like a lump of lead and curdled his stomach lining.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter two: Hooked

As always, I heartily thank TitianWren for her awesome beta work. Sorry this chapter is so late, but it's been a rough couple of months. Leave me a review! Genbu no Miko's seventh chapter is in its final stages. This story has been moved to Fullmetal Alchemist as it's focusing more on FMA rather than IY.

**………**

The teacup was halfway to her mouth when the phone rang. Lowering it back into its saucer, she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

She was silent as she listened. "Really? That's too bad."

Again she paused. "By all means— follow and keep an eye on her."

She fell quiet again but not for long. "No, don't worry about him. We've got our eyes on him constantly, even though he has no idea." It was the longest sentence she'd spoken since picking up the phone. Taking advantage of listening to the person on the other end of the line, she picked up her cup and took a delicate sip of tea.

"Yes, those are your orders: watch her." She fell silent again and cocked her head to the side as if listening to someone or something else. She nodded and returned to her conversation. "And clean up the mess; make sure you fix what you broke."

She put an end to the conversation by hanging up the phone. Admiring the moonlit country scenery, she took another sip of tea and gave a peculiar smile.

………

"Ed and Alphonse will return to Central when their repairs are complete. I just hope Scar doesn't catch up to them. If he does, Edward will look like Gran did after _his_ encounter and I nearly lost my lunch right then and there when I saw what was left."

Mustang's voice ruined the pleasant fantasy Hughes was living: the paper would make such a sweet noise as one of his knives ran through it— page by page; he could hear it now, see it even: the small, sharp blade moving seamlessly through the parchment. _It would make such a lovely sound,_ he thought, glaring at the tome. Legends filled those pages— romantic fairy tales of swords, demons, half demons — both good and evil — cursed monks, slayers with giant boomerangs, walking corpses, magical jewels— what story was complete without one?— and of course, the hero _always_ getting the girl… the live one, that is. Nonsensical and useless — he should have brought the book home to his daughter instead of bringing it to Ed! The elder Elric brother was not going to thank him for this.

He'd been reading the text since he'd received it and had finally finished it during the car ride back to East HQ; evening had fallen hours ago and he still hadn't found a single clue to a code. He began to wonder if one even existed like he'd told Roy. It had been his intention to find the code, tell Ed about it, and let the young alchemist decipher it from there. Best laid plans gone to waste, hence the shredding fantasy. _Which Roy just ruined,_ he growled mentally.

"And you know they're going back to Central…how?" he asked finally, looking up at his friend and blinking owlishly.

Standing, Roy went over to the window and looked down on the darkened streets. "Marcoh…" he said, trailing off.

"Polo? Aren't you and I a bit old for that? Not that I'm not game— but it'd be a bit weird. But hey, if you want to!" Hughes replied, standing up with a mischievous smile on his face.

Roy felt a vein in his forehead start to throb. Wonderful— the first time in almost half a year that he'd seen Maes and the guy was already giving him a migraine. Honestly, Hughes spent way too much time cooped up in an office. "No, Marcoh," he growled. "Dr. Tim Marcoh."

"Oh, him. And here I thought you wanted to play," he said, reseating himself, propping his feet up on the table, and resting his hands on his stomach.

Mustang bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming and tearing out his hair.

When Hughes didn't get a rise out of the colonel, he tried a different tactic. "Did I show you the new pictures of Elysia?" he asked, reaching for the ones in his pocket.

"Did I tell you what would happen if you take them out?"

Point taken.

"Roy, dammit, I know I'm your friend, but I'm not a mind reader."

"Oh? Something you actually _can't_ do?"

"Get a wife if you want one," he said, blithely ignoring his friend's snide remark. "They _always_ know what you're thinking. Why, just the other day…"

No, anything but this.

"…mine knew that I was going to take more pictures of Elysia—"

So what else was new? That wasn't mind reading— that was Maes being predictable. "Hughes," came the warning. If he didn't stop him now, he'd end up killing him.

"—and she stopped me," he said, going on. Roy's threat went unheard or unheeded. "She said I'd taken enough for the day. I mean I only took _three_ rolls," he lamented.

Dear God. _Please,_ he prayed, _make him stop._

"She also knew when I was going to sneak Elysia another cookie— I can't resist that puppy-dog look she uses!— even though she'd already had three—"

His head was pounding. _Please shut him up,_ he prayed. _Please. My head is pounding._ "Hughes…" he growled.

"—And of course the time I tried to eat a piece of apple pie that was supposed to be for the neighbors—"

"Hughes!" he bellowed. His head was beyond pounding; it felt like something was trying to bash its way out into the open. _This must be how Zeus felt when Athena emerged from his head,_ Roy reflected, glaring at Maes. Tapping glove-encased fingers together he emitted a spark aimed at his incessant friend.

Maes blinked. "Something bothering you, Roy? You look like you're about to kill someone," he commented mildly, his face the epitome of concern.

_How'd you guess,_ the flame alchemist thought savagely, gnashing his teeth together. He needed something to destroy or slam— either would work; both would be better after listening to Hughes babble. Most unfortunately, Maes wasn't on the phone; he was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table— slamming down the phone was not an option. And since Roy had ordered his subordinates not to interrupt him, Hawkeye wouldn't waltz in at the exact moment and warn him to be mindful of the phone. He hoped whatever deities were listening right now knew that he didn't appreciate their sick senses of humor.

He turned to the next best thing for stress-relief. He pictured Edward's angry face when some poor, unfortunate soul commented about his height. The furious look on the blond's face did the trick: a tiny smirk inched its way free. "Get your filthy boots off my table," he said.

Smiling slightly, Hughes sat up and turned serious. "Tell me about Marcoh."

"Dr. Tim Marcoh. Former member of the military—"

"And former State Alchemist, correct?"

Roy stared at him, his eyes slightly wide with surprise.

"Hey, don't underestimate me. I'm in the Investigations Department for a reason," he said, his eyes shining with mirth.

"Did you want to hear the story, or tell it?"

"Oh, no, you go right ahead, Colonel," Hughes replied, stressing his friend's rank.

"Marcoh was known as the Crystal Alchemist—"

"I want a cool nickname!" Maes complained. "Why do you alchemists get the coolest titles?" he asked.

"Because we did something to earn it?" Mustang asked mildly. "If you want a 'cool nickname,'" he said, making quotation marks with his fingers, "become a State Alchemist, Hughes."

Maes pouted at him. "You're so cruel," he whined. "Think 'knife-throwing expert' would get me in?" he asked, producing one and effortlessly tossing it into the air and catching it several times.

"Sure," Roy replied, shrugging.

"Really?"

"No," he said flatly. "Now as I was saying—"

"Yeah, what were you saying?"

"Hughes…" he growled again.

"Sorry," the lieutenant-colonel yelped, waving his hands. Roy was a scary bastard when he was pissed.

"He was known as the Crystal Alchemist due to the fact that he can take a substance in a liquid state, distill it if necessary, and coagulate it into a crystallized mass. Vice versa, he's able to take a solid mass, change it back into a semi-liquid state and seal it in a crucible; when this semi-liquid is released from its holding vessel and into the open, it crystallizes once more. For that aspect of his alchemy, he is like Ed."

"No transmutation circle?" Hughes asked.

Mustang nodded. "For all other types of alchemy, he needs an array."

"Unlike Ed," Maes quipped.

"Marcoh was also doing research on a certain other stone," Roy said, ignoring the comment.

"You mean the Philosopher's Stone," the Lieutenant Colonel said flatly. "How far did he get?"

"Rumor has it that he managed to find out _all_ the ingredients, but it's unproven. I do, however, know that he came close enough to the real thing, because it was used by the Military."

"It was? When?" When Roy hesitated to answer, Hughes blinked and it suddenly came to him. "No…you can't… the _Ishbal Rebellion_?"

Mustang snorted. "Rebellion, Maes? Come on, you know better than that. It was genocide, pure and simple. The State Alchemists were problem-solvers for the Fuhrer. We had to clean up the mess that stupid officer started! Marcoh was along because of research. It was his incomplete stone that brought an end to the seven-year war. And I've always wondered if that child's death was an accident like the reports claimed," Roy said, as an afterthought.

"But Marcoh disappeared," Hughes said quietly, remembering the slim info in existence about the man. He looked at Roy. "What do you know about that?"

"Why do you think _I_ know something?" he asked innocently.

_Too_ innocently. Hughes narrowed his eyes at Mustang. "You know, I'm starting to agree with Ed. You _are_ hiding something. Spit it out, Roy."

He should have known that Hughes would ask. He had an uncanny knack for ferreting out the truth and drawing the connections to it, no matter how outlandish it sounded. Mustang stared at his hands, trying to decide where to start. The beginning, he decided. It was always the safest place. Maes would ask until he got the entire story anyhow.

"Do you remember when I returned?" he asked.

"From Ishbal? Yeah, you creeped me out, man, studying that taboo and making almost flippant comments about suicide, as if living didn't matter anymore. I was worried about you."

Roy felt a rush of gratitude for his best friend. "Did you know that the first time I tried to commit suicide was in Ishbal?" he asked, looking at Maes with a twisted smile.

Rising, Hughes stared at him as if seeing him for the very first time. "Roy…"

Shoving away from the desk, Mustang stepped over to the window and stared out. "Gran was a Colonel then and I was a nothing Major, a stupid kid who'd passed a difficult alchemy exam not a year ago."

Maes watched a bitter, self-deprecating smile float onto his face in the window's reflection.

"Two doctors had come to Ishbal— they didn't care what side you were on. If you were injured, they did their best to treat you. They patched me up a few times."

"So?" Hughes asked quietly. "They were doctors; that was their job."

"You do understand the implication that they didn't care, right? To them, sides didn't matter. When Gran found that out, you can imagine just how happy he was."

"Oh, yeah."

Mustang continued as if he hadn't heard. "He called them traitors of the state and ordered their execution."

Hughes stared at him, his eyes widening as what his friend said processed through his mind. _Oh, no,_ he thought. _No way._ Gran wasn't _that_ much of a monster… who was he trying to kid?

Roy focused on Maes's shocked face in the window. "By now I'm sure you've guessed that Gran ordered me to do the execution."

Hughes sprang off the couch and over to Roy. After a few seconds of not knowing what to do, he settled for giving comfort by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I tried to refuse… desperately. Gran wouldn't hear it. He took my gun from its holster, put it in my hands, and aimed for me, telling me to pull the trigger. The Rockbells huddled together on that dirty, stone floor. I remember the fear in their eyes," he said, fighting against the nausea that threatened; sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down the back of his neck into his collar, cold as ice. "She held a picture of her child and pleaded with me," he continued, fighting a wave of vertigo. "'Please don't,' she said. 'Please no— have mercy. We're _doctors_. We save people; we patched you up, helped you, cared for you. How could you— please, please don't. Don't. We have a daughter!'" he recited in a high-pitched imitation of her voice.

Maes gripped his shoulder convulsively.

"I tried to lower my gun. I actually _did_. Gran raised it again and told me he would court-martial me if I went against his orders."

"Monster," Hughes breathed. He'd known the Brigadier General had a mean streak, but he never thought the man was so heartless— so cruel as to make a _kid_ do the execution. _Perhaps Scar did the world a favor,_ he thought.

"Court-martialed. Me, a kid, facing trial for having mercy. Sad world, isn't it?" Roy asked, smiling bitterly. "So I took aim. She started to sob and it made me want to as well. At the very last second, her husband covered her body with his… it took only one bullet— it got them both in the heart. He took longer to die, though. She died instantly." Roy's voice began to shake as he continued the painful recount. "He gripped the picture of his daughter and kissed it, apologizing that he wouldn't be home in time for her birthday. Then his arm went slack and the blood-covered photo fell to the ground. I remember the sound of glass breaking…" he trailed off, gazing past the wall, lost in the memory. "His fingers were still on the picture, even in death. And do you know who was in the picture?" he asked.

"No," Hughes replied steadily. "I don't."

"Edward's mechanic."

Maes's eyes widened. "My God, Roy."

"You can say that again. I'd just killed two people. I was shaking from head to foot, scared to death, frightened out of my mind. And Gran just smiled at me in satisfaction."

_Oh, yeah,_ Hughes thought. _Scar **definitely** did the world a service._

Roy went on. "I'd just given that little girl one hell of a present: no parents. That smiling picture of a young Winry Rockbell has haunted my dreams for so many years. What I'd just done kept revolving in my head, so I don't quite remember very much after Gran smiled at me the way he did. I think that Marcoh arrived then and got into an argument with the Iron Blood Alchemist."

Maes gripped his shoulder even harder.

Mustang's voice was steadier after his pause. "That night, I returned to the blood-soaked basement— the Rockbells former place of operation— with a bottle of scotch. I drank it, the entire bottle. Didn't take me more than five, six minutes at the most. I dropped it to the floor and stared at it, waiting for that alcohol to circulate, and then snatched my gun from its holster," he said, reaching behind to grab a gun that wasn't there. "I put it right under my chin," he said, angling his head up and creating a mock gun with his thumb and forefinger. "One shot and it would all be over; I wouldn't have to deal with the guilt or pain ever again."

Hughes desperately wanted to comfort his friend. Using the window's reflection, he looked at the closed door behind them. _Screw it, he thought. Roy said no interruptions; they'll follow his orders to the letter. He's the Flame Alchemist after all. He needs this._ Carefully, hesitantly, Maes slid an arm around Roy's shoulders, holding him the way an older brother would a younger onewho needed comfort. He prayed that Mustang wouldn't get the wrong idea and try to burn him extra-crispy.

Surprised, Roy stiffened in his friend's comforting but protective —and unexpected— embrace. When Hughes did nothing else, he allowed himself to relax, letting the other man comfort him. Drawing upon his friend's strength, he continued his grisly tale. "That was when Marcoh found and stopped me. I wonder if the Crystal Alchemist had been plotting his own demise sometimes. Ironically enough, walking in on a kid who'd never been out of Central before must have made him realize that it wasn't worth it. I think that's when he decided to run away, instead. I've often wondered why he confided in me that night," Roy said, as an afterthought.

"Probably because you sympathized and understood," Hughes said. "The more you talk about Marcoh, the more I begin to think that a man like him has a heart and isn't afraid to show it."

"Indeed," Roy said, agreeing. "When we first arrived in Ishbal, he didn't want to hand over what Gran called 'dominance in a bottle.' Either way, Marcoh received my promise of silence, which became my first step to redemption. With that, he took the stones, his research, and left that very night for a destination that only one person knew of. Gran blew a gasket the next morning," he said, with a small smile at Maes's reflection. He received a smirk in return— neither of them had been fond of Gran. "He questioned all of us— me in particular, it seemed. That was the last time I ever underestimated the Iron Blood Alchemist: he was far more observant than I thought. He must have seen me sympathize with Marcoh.

"When Gran asked me about the doctor's disappearance I looked him straight in the eye and asked him if he honestly believed that a man of Dr. Marcoh's integrity and intelligence would ever confide in a dumb kid like me. He didn't believe me, but lack of proof prevented him from doing anything. It's been thirteen years since Marcoh 'disappeared' from the military and I've kept his whereabouts a secret ever since— at least until Ed beat me in that fight," he said, stooping under Maes's protective embrace and reseating himself.

"Roy… about that," Hughes replied turning to him. "What happened out there? One minute you were about to finish it and the next, Ed's holding that beloved blade of his to your throat."

Mustang frowned at his hands and then looked at the Lieutenant Colonel. "I remembered," he said simply.

"Remembered? Remembered what?" At the bothered look on his friend's face, Hughes shook his head. "Never mind. You don't have to tell me."

The Colonel smirked. "That's the same thing that Edward said."

"Really now? Smart kid. So what do you think Marcoh told him?" he asked, returning to the prior subject.

"Not really so much as what— rather, how much. Oh, I'm sure the Crystal Alchemist told him a great deal— none of it in the military's favor, but then Edward already loathes us. Marcoh traveled a great deal before coming to rest in a small town not too far from East City. But I've heard he returned to Central some three, maybe four years ago. Whatever he did, or whatever he left must be what Edward is after."

"What do you think that is?"

"I'm not sure."

"Guess."

"If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say that he dropped something off— perhaps that journal that contained all of his research."

"It's a theory at least. Something I can begin to look into."

"What about the book? Anything interesting?" the Flame Alchemist asked, changing the subject.

"Other than my fantasy of shredding it? No."

"Then don't give it to him."

Hughes sighed. "I have the feeling— actually, I've _had_ the feeling ever since I got that thing— that it would somehow get to Ed."

"Really?" Mustang asked, pulling his glove on again and approaching the desk. It wouldn't if it was a pile of ashes.

Maes gripped his wrist. "No, Roy. What's to say that this is the only copy? Next time it might just end up in his possession directly. At least we have it for now and have the chance to study it before it gets to him. Did you think I'd let him have it before I had a crack at it?"

Mustang said nothing. There was nothing to say. Sighing, he went back over to the window and stared out at the dark landscape, noting morbidly that it was almost too dark and the lights weren't bright enough. He would have continued this line of thought until a photograph snuck it's way into his line of vision. Starting, he turned and glared at Hughes, who was grinning and holding a stack of pictures.

"Sorry, Roy, I just couldn't help myself! You looked so gloomy and besides, these are new! I just _have_ to show them to you!" He shoved another one into his friend's face. "So what do you think? Isn't she the most precious little angel _ever_?" he asked, hugging the photo and twisting his upper body in a bizarre imitation of choking-the-life-out-of-something-by-bear-hug.

The muscles above Mustang's left eye began to twitch ominously. "Hughes," he growled, holding up a glove with a red design embroidered into the fibers. Snapping, he created a spark. He couldn't take it any longer.

That was the day all the photographs died.

**………**

He decided to call it a night; it had been a very long day that started at five in the morning with a miserable train ride back to Central; it was time to see his family. He instructed Sheska to go home after she finished, then left. Outside, he yawned widely, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and began his trek home. Why couldn't he have a lackey like Havoc to take him places? It wasn't fair that Roy had one but he didn't.

_Ah, well, _he thought, walking. _Nice night,_ he mused looking up at the clear night sky filled with diamonds that twinkled away. Bit balmy with all the recent rain, but it was better than the perpetual dust of the East he'd returned from. He didn't know how Roy could stand it.

It was good to be back. He hoped now that Gran was dead Roy would be transferred back to Central with Ed and Al. Terrible of him, he knew, but he hadn't liked the Brigadier General one bit… and after Roy's story, he was convinced the world was a better place without him. He missed the constant amusement of watching the elder Elric fight with his superior officer. Speaking of fights, that battle assessment had been a hell of one. And Ed wondered why he'd gone running as he yelled out 'fight' into the microphone.

He would have to make the time to visit them sometime… when they were in Central, of course. Not that Resembool was terribly far, but he didn't think they'd appreciate seeing him; Major Armstrong was enough. His thoughts turned back to the book. Strange mystery, that. What would Ed and Al— whose sole belief was in alchemy— make of it? Would they simply cast if off, or dive into the myriad of legends that filled each page? And what in the _world_ was he missing? Something either about it or from it escaped him and it was on the tip of his tongue. Something about… he bit his lower lip reflectively and closed his eyes, thinking hard. He opened them a few seconds later and began to walk again. He couldn't put his finger on it.

About it? No, there was nothing remarkable about the book itself. …In it? Yes. There was something in it… and that troubled him. But whatever it was, it was sinister enough that he just couldn't see it yet. _Or remember it,_ he thought dismally. _Some investigator I am. Another clue that cheerfully escaped,_ he thought, staring at the street dejectedly.

He was still moping when someone caught his eye. He'd never seen someone dressed like her. It looked like she was wearing two robes… but they couldn't be robes — the sleeves were too voluminous. Oddly enough, the inner garment matched the two feathers that decorated the small ponytail.

Wait. He stopped and looked at her again. Fan, a delicate-looking figure and features, feathers decorating what Hughes supposed could be called a knot, and… _Come on baby_, he thought. _Give me a glimpse of those eyes_. She obliged him by looking down at her fan. Dead red. If Maes didn't know any better, he'd say that he'd found the woman who'd delivered the book.

What a marvelous stroke of luck! He didn't even have to start looking for her! Now… how to approach her? He'd have to be subtle; she knew the most about the book and he knew next to nothing. So how would he word it so that he sounded knowledgeable…? She didn't give him the chance to continue. No, she began to walk. Hughes snapped out of his scheming and hurriedly followed her.

When she stopped, he dodged into the shadows of the street and watched her. He could see her clearly now and being so close to her… made his skin crawl. The shadows deepened and he flinched. What the… why did he have the urge to flee as if a hound from hell was chasing after him? She seemed to soak up the darkness and pour it forth again in miasmatic wave after wave. He began to tremble. He forced himself to stay put and managed it by sheer willpower alone. His hands, so strong and steady from knife throwing, felt weak as they gripped the sides of a brick building for support; his legs felt like jelly.

Reaching into her strange garments, she took out a shining key and unlocked the door she stood before. The mundane act helped him relax briefly, but the intense feeling of creepiness did not desert him. She went inside and after a few seconds of trying to get his breathing under control, he crept out and over to the large window and peeked in.

She stood in the middle of the roomand seethed. He wondered at that: everything looked neat and tidy. But he recalled, from so long ago what Gracia had told him during the first year of their marriage:

_"'I'm not upset that you broke it, I just wish you'd told me."_

_ "How did you know? It's the same pitcher. I made sure of it."_

_ "Some women just know. They know when their stuff's been moved, jarred, tampered with, or broken and replaced.'"_

She was obviously one of those women, Hughes thought, watching her hands clench and unclench. As he watched, she snatched her fan from her robes, opened it a bit, and swung her arm in an odd arc. Wind rushed past him, making him shiver. For a moment, he saw _something_ gleam as it flew through the still air. Whatever it was slashed the curtain separating the front from the back to ribbons. _What was that,_ he wondered, with a touch of fright.

Briskly, she shut the fan and turned suddenly to face him. He froze, wondering if she would turn that awesome force upon him… Could it be used on a person, he wondered dazedly. He realized with a sick, sinking sensation in his stomach that flesh cut just as easily as fabric with the right instrument. _Just ask Barry the Chopper,_ he thought grimly. Raising her fan, she jabbed it at something. It took several moments for him to make out what she was pointing to: a "closed" sign. Below that, store hours. Store hours… he looked up: it was a shop he stood in front of. What the— he wondered. She opened at nine in the morning. Logic then dictated to him that she owned a shop.

Giving her a weak grin, he lifted his hand in acknowledgement and turned away, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and began to make his way home again. The feeling of terror left him the further he got from the shop but the questions had just started. There was something awfully _odd_ about what he'd just encountered. Staged, almost. Maes was sure that those who saw that particular move were also on the receiving end, but she'd left him alone. Why? It bore looking into.

Kagura watched him go. _Hooked,_ she thought. And if all went well, she would reel him in and shove him out. She didn't need Kanna to tell her that those soulless creatures had ransacked her shop. Oh, nothing was broken, not anymore, but she knew they'd been here all the same— they'd left a mark.

Did they seek a copy of the book? Of course they did. Like the fools that had it, they believed it had something to do with the Philosopher's Stone that they searched for so avidly. Which of the two sides was the more foolish, she wondered, gazing at her reflection. In the end, both sides would have to understand that they were not immortal. Sticking her tongue out at her reflection, she turned from the mirror and pushed aside the tattered curtains.

"You're right: they seek the book because they've heard it's for Edward Elric. They track him zealously. He's to be their human sacrifice."

Hearing the subtle voice of her elder sister, Kagura turned back and quickly made her way over to the mirror. The reflective surface stood in a boring frame and she knew that it had missed the carnage because it held little value for them during their search. She lifted her hand and gently laid it against the cool glass. "Why do they seek the stone, Kanna?"

"They wish to be human," she intoned in her hollow whisper.

"Is that so? I wonder why. They seem to despise humans." Kagura fell silent for a moment and then voiced the question that had been bothering her. "Kanna… these Homonculi… they have ten lives. Would Sesshomaru's sword— the one that rests in its sheath — can that be used against them?"

Gripping her mirror on the other end, the void demon told her younger sister that she didn't know. The wind-demoness sighed. "Very well. Good night, Kanna."

"Sister, watch out for the fat one. He is called Gluttony and will eat anything in sight; his appetite is insatiable."

Shivering, Kagura nodded and trudged upstairs. She wanted death, true, but she didn't want to be eaten.

_Did you stick your tongue out at me, Kagura?_

She rolled her eyes. _Keep dreaming._

**………**

"No such luck."

"Then it's safe to say that Lieutenant Colonel Hughes has the only copy."

"Looks that way. I could get it. Just let me come to the HQ disguised—"

"And have him suspect us more than he does? No, you'll stay put. Don't worry, we have our _eyes_ on him. You're to stay put and _watch_. Besides, should you see the Fullmetal Alchemist, you'll try to kill him. We still need him, don't forget. Stay away until we contact you."

The sigh was heavy and audible. "You're no fun."

A click resounded in his ear.

Replacing the receiver, he turned to his voluptuous companion. "Well, we have our orders. Too bad I can't fool him." He morphed into Edward for a moment. "I would _so_ love a crack at that pipsqueak," he said, changing back to his normal self.

"Patience, Envy. Very soon."

"Lust, I'm done!"

"That's nice, Gluttony."

As Gluttony dived and ripped into the phone, Lust eased herself against a table, crossed her arms over stomach, and closed her eyes meditatively. She wanted the stone very badly— lusted obsessively after it. She wanted to be human; she didn't know why, but the desire consumed her every waking thought. There was something important about becoming human… about _being_ human, something that she remembered only in fleeting glimpses, half remembered thoughts… something that was connected to the alchemist killer in an almost direct way. But while the reason was there, she couldn't touch upon it. She would only know when she was human.

………

A/N: If any of you can tell me where I coined the phrase: That was the day all the photographs died, I'll give you cyber cookies! Okay, small hint: song. By the way: No. No, I am NOT pairing Roy with Hughes. Sorry guys. I know that part was really odd, I even think so myself but Hughes always strikes me as the type of person who'd do something like that and Mustang strikes me as someone who could relax only in the presence of a person completely loyal and devoted to him and his cause, which Hughes is.

_Kittymui_— Muwaha! I'm doing good! Actually, this is a new style for me and I'm enjoying it. Sorry to confuse you. Actually, it's not when Ed gets the book; it's what will happen after that. Keep tuned!

_Chibimacha7_— Actually, Hughes is going to be very prominent in this story. How's yours going, by the way? Did my review of Ed's character help at all? Let me know, okay?

_K.L.W_.— :dryly: _So_ glad you approve. P TitianWren, meet Kracken, my former beta-reader. She checks over again, even after you've gone over it. Kracken, meet TitianWren, current beta-reader and an extremely awesome person like yourself. You guys okay with each other? No fights, right. :gives Kracken a stern look and all too happy grin: Glad you like. I like this one too; it'll be so much fun when they meet Inuyasha and company :sighs: If you feel you must sleep, you may do so. :hands her a pillow with Trunks on it.: For your sleeping pleasures! The desk can't be that comfortable. :smiles evilly:

_Jamie_— Why thank you, kind sir. Where've you been lately? Hey, I saw about five minutes of Samurai Champloo! It was odd…

_Kurama'sFoxyMiko_— Umm… I'll see where the story takes me. I'm sorry I can't promise romance as it's not really a romance fic as you said, but I'll try.

R/R Please! I want opinions. Remember, I love opinions.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter three: The Fool**

_I don't own **Inuyasha** or **Fullmetal Alchemist**. The idea for the logs came from **Star Trek **which was created by Gene Rodenberry and probably owned by more people than I could ever name. Thanks to my wonderful beta: you know her, you love her, let's hear a big, heartfelt cheer for **TitianWren** for her awesome work! I keep forgetting to thank **Saber**, webmaster of fullmetalalchemist.info for supplying me with a crucial piece of information that I used in the last chapter. So thanks to him/her for the much needed info! _

From the personal log of Colonel Roy Mustang— 

_We all have to keep a personal log; it's a little known fact. It's absolutely pointless— a waste of time, paper, and ink. However, I am not the Fuhrer and my opinions do not count. I must do this, much as I despise it. But one day I **will** be Fuhrer. On that day, personal logs shall become an option. Miniskirts shall be required of all female officers instead. _

The pen stopped its scritching for a scant second and then started up again, hastily writing something. _Note to self: DO NOT let Hawkeye see this and make sure Maes promises not the reveal these contents under the pain of being **burned**, should he ever be allowed to read this. _

The frantic scratching stopped and the normal pace resumed.

_On the other hand, to be a complete hypocrite, I have to admit that there is a certain amount of liberty associated with recording events. It is, however, problematic that the Fuhrer has ordered me to turn this in for review when we return. I've been ordered to record every little thing. I've already chosen another book for the edited version. It's a handsome thing, bound in indigo-colored leather and trimmed with silver. I can't say why it attracted me, but it did. Should I be asked about the unconventional log, my standard (cheap) one was destroyed by natives that we encountered. It's certainly possible; they're definitely violent enough. This one shall remain under alchemic lock and key…_

_But where shall this one start? The beginning, as people are so fond of saying, is the best place. So this shall begin with my desire to burn Edward to a pile of ashes— Maes too, while I'm at it: the former for aging me ten years and the latter for hanging up on me and keeping me in the dark. Lucky for us mortals, fire, if you can control it, will light the way and the halls need not be so dark… I had to hear about Ed's condition after Lab Five— Lab Five, for the love of heaven!— from Major Armstrong. Perhaps I'm more protective of Ed than I realize. Like Maes has room to accuse or make fun. He gave Fullmetal the book under the mistaken impression that it would keep him out of trouble. But this is Edward we're talking about, and funny enough, I don't see pigs flying. Must be because Tucker never got the chance to create that particular chimera yet._

………

Mustang stared at the phone, wondering if he wasn't hallucinating as he listened to the excited voice on the other end of the line. Maybe it was the tea, he hypothesized, looking at the mug he'd recently finished. He hadn't ruled out that theory just yet, but he needed proof. And then he remembered that no matter how much evidence he gathered, science never _proved_ anything; it merely made laws to explain the formed hypothesis. Still, listening to the ecstatic voice as it chattered on to the one person that the owner of the voice absolutely despised— and talking willingly— made him surer every passing second that he was hallucinating. _Oh, yes,_ he thought, _it **has** to be the tea._

"Let me get this straight," he said, trying to put what he'd just been told into order, or a semblance of it. "Lieutenant Colonel Hughes gave you the book in the hospital. When you finished it, you decided it was junk and tossed it away to the table. The book hit the edge of the table instead and a _map_ popped out of the back cover binding?" Roy smirked. "Your aim must really suck, Fullmetal. Guess it's because you're so short."

"Who're you calling 'short'?" the boy on the other end of the phone snapped. At the gentle murmur that Mustang couldn't quite make out, he heard Edward sigh and the miniscule display of temper faded.

_How the hell did Maes miss that,_ he wondered, as Edward grudgingly confirmed his rendition and continued.

"Wait— what?" Mustang asked, snapping out of his lull and focusing on what Ed was saying.

Exasperated, Edward repeated himself.

"Magic?" Disbelief colored his voice with a hint of impatience. He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. _I should have destroyed that damned book after all._ "Don't be absurd," he snapped, his patience fast deteriorating. "There's no such thing. Fullmetal, we are alchemists, _scientists_. We see the world through numbers and equations. We _do not_ believe in an improbable concept like _magic_," he grated, patience completely gone.

"But Colonel," he heard Alphonse say, the young voice echoing painfully in the hollow suit and causing Mustang to wince for him inwardly, "the legends have to come from somewhere."

"Maybe so, but _magic_?" _Since when did these two revert back to kindergarten? Is there something that Armstrong didn't tell me?_

"Look, whether or not magic is real isn't the issue," Ed broke in, bringing the argument to an end with his next statement. "The map isn't fake. It's as real as you or me. Now, another interesting fact is that a bead of some sort is repeatedly mentioned. It may be the Philosopher's Stone. This place may have created one and they may still have it!"

"And they call it what?" Roy asked, skeptically. "That, I refuse to believe," he said flatly when Edward told him.

"Why? The stone is also called the White Lion and a variety of other names. Why not this name, too?"

A bead, the Philosopher's Stone— the greatest treasure in alchemy— called a bead? Mustang felt like banging his head repeatedly. "To uneducated peasants, maybe," he snapped in response. "Is there anything else?" he asked before he did slam his head.

"The map shows an island southwest of East HQ. Since I'm here in Central, I already met with Fuhrer Bradley to ask for permission to travel there, seeing as the military hasn't visited it yet."

Mustang choked when Ed's words registered, much to the perplexing of his underlings. Hawkeye stared at him, wondering if she needed to fetch one of the doctors from the med-bay. _No,_ she decided. _He looks shocked but he's breathing without turning another color._ Shrugging mentally, she turned back to her paperwork.

"You…you…" he stuttered, "you went to the _Fuhrer_?" he gasped out. He couldn't believe he was hearing this.

"Of course," Edward said impatiently. "It's not like you could authorize a visit, you know."

_Thank you, Edward,_ he thought, a headache pounding between his eyes viciously. Changing ears with the phone, he opened the top left drawer of his desk and began to pick up and push away pens and other miscellaneous objects as he hunted for the bottle of aspirin he stored there. _I know it's here somewhere._ "Yes, I know that," he replied through clenched teeth. _Dammit! Where **is** it? If Havoc took it again and didn't return it..._ The thought trailed off into a pleasing fantasy of Havoc running from his flames. Shifting the phone again, he opened the right drawer and began to root around in it for the elusive bottle. "Why didn't you contact me before you went to King Bradley? I'm your commanding officer!" _And I've never denied you anything._

"Yeah, I knew I forgot something," the blond replied flippantly.

Roy could just see that knowing look in the blond's eyes and the curiously flat, yet amused expression on his face as one metallic index finger scratched his cheek negligently. In the background, he could hear Alphonse slapping his forehead and groaning. All at once, Roy unclenched his jaw and smiled grimly. Leaving his desk drawers, he gripped the phone again with one hand. The pain was a good thing— he could think of ways to punish the pipsqueak. Logic asserted itself. Of course Fullmetal hadn't brought this to him. He didn't want to hear Mustang's criticisms and cynicism. If only he knew… he wouldn't have gotten that book unless Roy had given Maes the go-ahead to give it to him. He felt his smirk return, and made sure Edward heard it. "Forgot. Right," he drawled.

"Well, it _has_ been hectic, you know— what with my arm malfunctioning again and all. Winry had to come from Resembool to fix me! She accidentally left a screw out!"

The smirk widened. "And sneaking into Lab Five," he commented, not saying anything about his last comment. "You didn't think I wouldn't find out, did you?" he asked, waiting for the next flippant comment. When he didn't hear anything except the blond's harsh breathing, he became concerned. The smirk faded from his lips and his brows furrowed as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and head again, ignoring the stab that lanced through his head and down his neck. "Edward?" he asked quietly.

"Don't ask me to tell you about… what I… about anything," the boy said hoarsely.

Mustang blinked. He'd never heard Ed's voice so… afraid. "I won't," he promised. He could always read Hughes's report. He was certain that Edward had talked to him.

"Thank you."

Roy could hear the relief in his voice. "Anything else you 'forgot' to tell me?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard Ed's thanks.

"Yes. You've been ordered back to Central. Fuhrer Bradley wants to talk to you."

Mustang slammed the phone down. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed his temples once again. Where the hell was that damned bottle?

"Here, sir."

He looked up to see Lieutenant Hawkeye holding the tell-tale bottle. "I borrowed it. I hope you don't mind."

Gratefully, and knowing that she was lying for Havoc, he took the tiny, white container and tugged the cap off. Shaking out two pills, he popped them into his mouth and swallowed them, wincing at the sour taste. "Thank you, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Next time, Havoc, put them back," he said, not sparing his surprised subordinate a glance.

………

On the other end of the phone, in a sterile, white hospital room, a boy clad in a white hospital gown sat on the bed while his younger brother, standing seven feet tall, loomed over him. They both stared at the phone. Finally: "I don't believe it! He hung up on me! Mustang, you bastard!" The boy's shout could be heard throughout the hallway.

………

Hawkeye sighed internally. She'd tried to tell Havoc that Mustang wouldn't believe her. She sat down, glanced at him sternly, and then said, "The phone, sir. Please don't break it."

The Colonel didn't reply. He never did when it came to that reprimand. He knew full well that if she didn't say something he would break it. It had happened before. "Lieutenant Hawkeye," he said, looking over at her with his piercing gaze. "Were there any messages ordering me back to Central today?"

"No, sir," she said, ignoring the fluttering of her heart.

"That's what I thought," he replied, looking at the phone in satisfaction. _I dare you to ring,_ he thought.

It answered his challenge.

Steeling himself for Edward's voice, he picked the receiver up. "Colonel Mustang," he said coolly, his baritone showing no emotion whatsoever.

"Ah, Colonel, excellent," the cool, professional voice wafted out of the phone causing him to nearly drop it in surprise. "This is Juliet Douglas, Fuhrer Bradley's secretary. You have been ordered back to Central immediately," she said formally. "There is a train leaving East City at six o'clock this evening to Central. You are to catch this train— your fare has been taken care of, all you need to do is pack. Someone will be at Central Station to meet you when you arrive. We look forward to seeing you, Colonel Mustang. Have a pleasant trip." She hung up.

Roy stared at the phone in shock, barely hearing its lonely dial tone. _The pipsqueak wasn't lying?_ he screamed mentally.

_Well, that was a shock, to be sure. I never would have thought him serious. I simply thought he'd been spending too much time in Hughes's custody and got the idea for a joke from him. That's something Maes would pull. But he did indeed go to the Fuhrer… who in turn, much to my surprise, gave permission for this mission— why, I don't know. I've come to understand that King Bradley firmly believes in allowing his men to search for their dreams, but isn't granting permission for such a quest a bit over the top? After Ishbal, the military hasn't visited a new region or province because no one wants a situation like that to repeat. Still, it didn't sound like a normal quest, either. Ed, Al, and I were the only ones being allowed to go… it got me out of baby-sitting for Major General Hakuro, however. _

The train ride, though long, was uneventful. In a word, it was boring. Being that it was such a sudden trip, Mustang was forced to break all the dates he had set up for the foreseeable future. His impeccable record had certainly sustained a blow, he'd told Hawkeye mournfully. Strangely enough, she didn't seem very sympathetic. Women. For as much as he loved them, he couldn't understand them. The only good thing about the trip was that he slept on the train. He felt refreshed as he departed the train car. And it all went down the drain when he saw who was waiting for them.

"Howdy!" Maes said, hailing him and Hawkeye.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes!" Hawkeye said, standing at attention and saluting him.

"Gee, Lieutenant, do you have be so _stiff_?" he asked, shoving away from the wall he was leaning against and approaching them. "I mean, Roy, yes, he doesn't know how to loosen up or have fun, but I thought you, at least, had more sense."

Before Hawkeye could answer, Mustang's smooth baritone spoke first. "You might try talking about me when I'm not around and can't hear you, Hughes."

"Nah. I do enough of that already. It's boring after a while," came the investigator's flippant reply.

"Excuse me?" Mustang asked, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at his friend. Hawkeye almost lost the internal battle with her amusement. Really, they made quite a pair. It was hard to believe they were best friends.

"You heard me. Besides, _someone_ has to undo the corruption that babysitting you has caused."

_It would be most unprofessional to laugh,_ she reprimanded herself sternly. But by the heavens, it was hard... and getting harder.

"Hughes," he intoned warningly.

"Yes? Is something wrong, Colonel Mustang, sir? Did I speak too frankly?"

She gave in. To her credit though, it _did_ sound very much like a hacking cough. When she realized that her superior officer wasn't fooled, she stopped and regained her bland look. Her lips however, still held the tiniest curl of amusement.

Roy groaned, the annoyance draining out of him like water rushing to leave the tub. He couldn't stay angry at Hughes for long. And truly, Hawkeye did have a good reason to laugh: the exchange _had_ been amusing. "Sometimes I find it hard to believe you and I are friends." He looked around the deserted station and frowned at the empty shadows. "Ed's not here?"

"He's at HQ."

"Oh, good." _I can't **wait** to pound him,_ Mustang thought.

"But you have a meeting with Fuhrer Bradley first," Maes said, his voice ruining the pleasant picture of Edward running and screaming like he had during the battle assessment. He shot Hughes a sour look — said man grinned in response. "_Then_ you can pound him."

Eerily enough, it was like Maes read his mind. _Must have shown on my face,_ he thought. Either that, or Hughes simply knew him too well. Likely it was both. "Does this mean I beat you before or after?" Roy asked, falling into step with him. He barely noticed Hawkeye becoming his ever-present shadow.

"Me? Whatever for?" the investigator asked, shooting him a sidelong glance, his frivolous attitude and trademark smirk back.

"For thinking that book would keep him out of trouble. It didn't work, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Actually, I did notice. But thanks for reminding me." Hughes closed his eyes briefly and sighed as they approached the station's exit. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said quietly.

Mustang was silent as they left the station. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he frowned at the visible difference in temperature: it was much cooler here in Central City than the East. As they made their way to the HQ, Roy thought about his conversation with Ed. Magic. It was almost like the young blond had… convinced himself that magic was… real. Idiocy, really.

"Penny for your thoughts," Maes asked, glancing at him.

"You'll laugh," he replied. "And I want the penny first."

Hughes muttered something about promotions and greedy misers but said, "I'm sure that's something we could both use."

Sighing, he wondered how crazy he was going to sound but told him anyway. "When Edward first called and told me about the map, I could have sworn he believed in magic."

"Magic? Edward?" Hughes didn't laugh. Instead, he sounded surprised and disbelieving. "We are talking about Edward Elric, right?"

"Strange, isn't it?"

"If he were younger, I wouldn't say so," Maes said. "Young kids have the tendency to believe in the fantastic; that's why we call them innocent. But Ed stopped being a child when—" Hughes broke off suddenly, unwillingly to say more. He looked at Roy who returned the look, their eyes finishing Maes's sentence: Edward had stopped being a child the night he and Al tried to bring their mother back.

They walked in silence, the muffled noise of their boots on the pavement the only sound. From the shadows a cat hissed at them and fled into a crevice, glaring reproachfully at them as they went past, its light green eyes luminous from the glow of the street lamp. Mustang frowned. Something was still bothering him: the map; it seemed unlikely that Hughes would overlook something that important. When it came to investigations, Maes was one of the best. That was why he was in Investigations, after all.

"Maes," he asked quietly, unwilling to completely shatter the silence of the night as they approached the looming stories of Central HQ, "I have to ask— how did you miss that map?"

Hughes's face lost its cocky grin. "I don't know," he said at last, a contemplative look on his expressive features. "I went over that book with a fine toothcomb and I didn't find it. The more I think about it, the more I believe that it was meant for only one person to find."

"Edward," Mustang said grimly. "But why only him? Why not Alphonse?"

"Who's more desperate to locate the stone?" Hughes countered.

Mustang only frowned; he didn't need to answer that.

"Remember," Maes said, "the lady who delivered it said that the book was for Ed if he was still searching for the Philosopher's Stone. His stint in Lab Five only served as proof to whomever or whatever that he's still looking for it."

"Did you get a look at it?"

Maes shook his head. "Ed didn't tell me about the map until _after_ his meeting with the Fuhrer."

"Damn that boy. I still can't believe he used such an underhanded tactic. Going to the Fuhrer first, _then_ informing me."

"Look at it this way," Maes said consolingly. "He learned from the best," he told Mustang, shooting the man a smug grin. "It's not like you would have done any different."

_Of all the low down, dirty comments!_

_My meeting with King Bradley was simply a re-cap of his previous discussion with Edward. It was then that I received the order to record everything, as Fullmetal is a bit… **forgetful** with details, if some of his reports are anything to judge by. Damn, I hadn't thought the Fuhrer would have realized…_

_And so our journey began. I've come to discover that boats and I are not friends…_

Mustang leaned his head on the railing; the cool, damp wood felt wonderful against his sunburned skin. He wished he could stay inside his cabin but the rocking beneath the deck was considerably worse— that and the space was so small and enclosed… funny, he'd never thought of himself as claustrophobic… but then he'd never been on a boat before, either. He opened his eyes and looked at the waves that rammed the boat constantly, gently tossing her to and fro. Bad idea. The seasickness once again clawed its way up his throat. Heaving his body over the side, he vomited again in the churning water, much to the amusement of the deck mates that were covertly watching him as they did their duties. Groaning, he coughed and slumped miserably on the deck, waiting for the next bout and wishing that the boat would stop its roiling. He took deep breaths, hoping the salty air would help his queasy stomach and pounding head. He did remember to bring his aspirin, right?

"Hey, Al, check it out!"

Roy moaned, a hoarse, guttural sound in the back of his throat that pulled cruelly on his vocal cords. The sickeningly cheerful voice grated on his nerves and made his head hurt worse. He gritted his teeth and wished fiercely for the ground to open and swallow him up: surely nothing good was going to come of this particular confrontation. Closing his eyes, Mustang envisioned his puny subordinate running around like an idiot trying to subdue the people who called him short.

The blond chuckled sinisterly and remarked, "Guess we found the Colonel's weakness! He gets seasick! Who'd have thought it possible of the great Colonel Mustang!"

The Flame Alchemist leveled a glare at Edward over his shoulder, noting balefully that the blond pipsqueak was just fine and _grinning_ at him. _Bastard,_ he thought.

"Brother, please. That's not very nice of you. We shouldn't make fun of the Colonel because he doesn't like the sea."

_Thank you, Alphonse. It's easy to see which of you paid attention when your mother was teaching manners,_ he thought, closing his eyes.

"I mean seriously," Edward continued, "just wait until I tell the people in Central and East HQ! Colonel Mustang gets seasick!"

That stopped Roy cold. People in Central _and_ the East? He was ruined! The comments! The smirks! The awful whispering behind his back that Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist and hero of the Eastern Rebellion, was unable to travel by sea! He was ruined, ruined! That little pipsqueak... he wouldn't dare! Oh, who was he kidding? Edward was on cloud nine right now. _And it doesn't help that he remembers almost every time someone makes fun of him._ And it also didn't help that Mustang himself was one of the worst offenders, either.

"Go away, Edward," he said coldly. Even to him, his voice sounded weak.

"He even _sounds_ sick! This is just perfect! I wish I had a camera!"

"Brother," Alphonse tried again. "Don't forget he's our superior!"

"Who cares? He's too sick to do anything," the blond retorted smugly.

Mustang's eyes snapped open and narrowed at Ed's brash statement. _Is that so,_ he wondered as a vein in his forehead began to pulse madly in response to his rising anger. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself but Ed's words resounded over and over again. The anger built and he relished in it: it drove the seasickness away. His smirk returned with a vicious slant to it as he straightened his spine. Turning to Edward with deliberate, sloth-worthy slowness, he pulled his trademark glove out of his pocket and slipped it on with equal speed, leisurely straightening it over his long fingers. Holding his gloved hand up to eye level, he admired the copper-tinted threads that glittered ominously in the dying sunlight.

"Too sick, am I?" he repeated, extending his wrist and connecting his thumb and middle digit; his left hand propped itself casually on his waist.

Cold sweat began to trickle down Ed's neck as he looked into the Colonel's smoldering, coal-colored eyes. Oh, yeah, he was in for it. Turning his head, he glared at his brother, watching the seven-foot suit of armor scoot far, far away. _Al, you traitor._ Gulping, he turned back to the furious Mustang and held up his hands in a gesture of reconciliation, a nervous smile twisting his lips. "Now Colonel, you know it's just a joke—" He broke off and ran screeching as flames hurtled towards him.

Gulls heralded a cool, salty breeze that washed over the deck as Roy stood there smirking in satisfaction. The few crewmembers on deck stopped their work and stared at him, wondering why their captain had allowed such a madman onto the ship.

_Ah, victory,_ Mustang thought. _That'll keep his mouth shut._

The ship pitched again and he lost his smile rapidly. The nausea had returned and with it… Mustang made a mad beeline to the railing he'd left and heaved himself over the side just as the seasickness resurfaced.

_At least Edward didn't see my bout of seasickness after that. Thankfully it didn't happen while I was insuring his silence. I never would have lived it down. The crew however, thought it was hilarious. Fortunately for me, the captain was kind enough to send his daughter with an old remedy that helped immensely. I grew quite… dependent on that foul-tasting tea that was rendered ineffective if sweetened with anything except sage honey. The captain informed me that we had another two weeks of sailing— if the fair weather held. We'd only docked at Martin St. Steve for supplies. Ed, Al, and I were headed to the island chain known as Wicherry. Fortunately, the weather held and gave us an added bonus of extremely breezy days— we made it in under two weeks._

_It was on that group of small islands that our search began: the search for the fabled jewel called the Shikon no Tama, or the Jewel of Four Souls, that could grant any one wish. If only we knew just what we would go through to even get to the point of searching for it, I would have asked the Fuhrer to seriously reconsider. What should have been simple… was more complicated than the three of us could imagine. And the military would not, could not, step in to help. We were on our own in the start of a perilous quest— card zero: The Fool; the journey that would teach us just what The Hermit had gone through to become as wise as he was. _

Mustang glared at Edward as he took a large breath of air. Grinning at his brother, he tossed a smirk back to the still slightly sick Colonel and said, "Come on, Colonel. Let's go find that stone!"

Growling, Roy reluctantly trailed after him, mentally complaining about how cheeky his subordinate was.

………

Edward was mystified. "I can't believe it," he said, staring after the man as he strode away. Mustang too watched him go with a frown. Ed looked up at his superior almost beseechingly. "Colonel," he said, his tone reminding Roy of someone pleading for something. "I don't understand. What did I do?" he asked, plopping down wearily at the base of a large weeping elm and rubbing his stomach in circles, and wincing.

Mustang looked down at him and just stared, unable to believe his eyes. Ed looked so small and vulnerable sitting there under the tree. His heart clenched. Every time he saw Fullmetal, he always seemed older. His was a presence that not only called out to others but made him seem taller than his mere five foot-two frame. Seeing the eldest Elric like this made him realize once again that Edward was still a kid. He turned his eyes back to the man and his frown deepened. Truthfully, he didn't know what Ed had done either. He'd simply asked about the Shikon Jewel; it was an innocent enough question that had for some reason put everyone they'd asked on edge. The ladies that didn't hurry away with their eyes averted after being asked were cold and harsh, screeching to Edward that children shouldn't ask about what they didn't understand.

_What about me,_ Mustang wondered. _I'm not a kid; I'm a full-grown adult. Why don't they tell **me**?_ Instead of answering him when he'd asked, they'd scolded him because he'd asked for a child. And the men… well, they were downright hostile, violent even, as the man walking away had been.

_And all over one stupid question!_

_"Excuse me, sir?" Edward called, dashing over to the man who reminded him faintly of Izumi's husband, Sig._

_The man stopped his walking and shuffled his packages, setting the bulkiest ones on the ground. "Yes?" he responded politely. "Are you folks lost?" He seemed nice enough. Perhaps he wouldn't be like everyone else and they'd finally get some answers! _

_"Sort of," Edward replied vaguely. "Actually, we're looking for something. Maybe you can help us out."_

_"I can certainly try," he responded amicably._

_Ed reached into his pocket and pulled out the map. So far, so good. The man moved closer and bent down to examine it, his greater height dwarfing the young alchemist. _

_"We're reporters," he said, looking up and pointing to Mustang and himself, "and we're trying to find this shrine. It's important for our story."_

_"Reporters, eh? We don't get a lot of those… ever. In fact, I can't think of one in the forty-seven years that I've lived here. Sure we've lost islanders to the news world now and again, but they've never come here to do a story."_

_"Good to know we're the first ones, then," Ed said with a grin. "So, where's the shrine?" he asked._

_"Don't you want to talk to the villagers, first?" the man asked him shrewdly._

_"Sure," Mustang said, stepping forward. "But the shrine has to come first. That's where everything is centered. Once we have that, the villagers come into play."_

_"Never heard of a journalist that worked that way," he commented lightly._

_"We don't work for a newspaper. We work for a magazine."_

_"Didn't know they hired kids."_

_"Who're you calling short!" Ed asked angrily._

_"I said **kid**, not short."_

_"He's an extremely talented writer," Mustang said, smiling, clapping Edward on the shoulder, and squeezing it with enough force to convey his warning._

_"What about him?" he asked, jerking his thumb in Alphonse's direction._

_"Our photographer, of course."_

_"I don't see a camera."_

_"Of course not; it's put away."_

_The man looked skeptical. Mustang sighed, turned to Al and said, "Grab your camera from its case, would you? Oh, and make sure the flash is working. We had some problems with it on our way over here, if I remember correctly."_

_"Yes, sir!" The hollow suit scampered off behind a tree. Five minutes or so and a bright flash later, Alphonse came back, camera around his neck. "The flash bulb had to be replaced," he said. "But I got a great close-up of the area."_

_"Great, useless pictures of the ground. Good job wasting film, Al. Reminds me of the time you wasted film trying to capture ghosts!"_

_"Those pictures came out perfectly!" the suit said indignantly._

_"Yeah, right. Floating **lights**? Please, the flash was bad then, too."_

_It amazed Mustang how easily they fell into acting. But then, they must have had a lot of practice— especially with the false pretenses they gave to their teacher and keeping the real reason a secret: learning alchemy to try and bring back their mother. They had to be good at keeping their cards close to their chest to fool her. _

_"What're you writing about?" the man asked grudgingly. He couldn't disprove it. Hell, any second they'd whip out notebooks. Weren't they supposed to have those out already? Something was off about them but he couldn't really put his finger on it. They were good, though. He'd give them that._

_"The Shikon Jewel. It's a legend around here, isn't it?" Edward asked. "You asked what our article's about and now you know. We're trying to find the truth of the Shikon no Tama! The facts in all their glory!"_

_The reaction they got wasn't the one they'd expected… or rather, it was the one they were hoping to avoid. The man's face tightened suddenly, becoming a mask of rage. Baring his teeth, he pulled his fist back and slugged Edward in the stomach, hard. _

_"Brother!" Alphonse cried, making a distressed sound._

_Selfishly, Mustang was glad that the younger brother was encased in his armor. He was sure that the expression matching the tone would break his heart. Ed's face crumpled and he doubled over in pain. Reaching down, the man grabbed Ed's jacket with both hands and lifted him up to his face. _

_"You… you…you damned brat! How dare you ask such a question! Do you think to use it, too?" He balled his fist back; Ed shut his eyes and waited. He knew what was coming next: the explosion of pain, skin being split and spilling blood down his face and pooling into his mouth, and changing clothes again. Really, it was a wonder that his clothing seemed to be intact with all the beatings he'd received over the years. _

_The blow never came. Something unbearably hot rushed between them; he could see the impressions of orange, gold, and red from beneath his closed lashes. Ed found himself hitting the ground gracelessly and heard his would-be-attacker yowling in pain. He opened his eyes. Mustang stood not three feet from them, his right arm stretched out and fingers positioned in their trademark stance. _

_"That's enough," he heard the Flame Alchemist say. His voice was so cold… and so dangerous that it sent chills up Ed's spine, an odd thing considering the man's primary element. _

_**I never thought I'd be glad to hear his voice!** _

_"So… my thoughts were correct. You're not journalists, are you?"_

_"What makes you think that?"_

_"I don't know of many journalists who can do **that**," he said, putting a singed finger in his mouth. _

_"I dabble in Alchemy. A little hobby of mine."_

_The man snorted. "Yeah, and I'm a ninja," he mumbled around his injured digit._

_Mustang simply frowned, not bothering with a reply. "Instead of beating him black and blue, why don't you tell us why you and everyone else on this damned island is so touchy over the story of a stupid jewel." Though it was tactfully phrased like a question, Edward and Alphonse knew that it was anything but. The man seemed to know it, too._

_Putting his hands at his side he simply looked at Mustang for a long time. Sighing, he bent over and picked up his parcels and slung them over his shoulder once again. "I'm late," he said. "My wife and daughter are going to kill me. Let me give you some friendly advice."_

_Ed snorted and muttered something about oxymorons. For someone who had just been hell-bent on beating the stuffing out of a teenager, **friendly** was not a word that should have been in his vocabulary. _

_"That's a story that we don't talk about, even to our children," he said, ignoring Edward and his mutterings. "The fact that outsiders like you have even heard about it is bad and it's enough to make even the most rational of us raging monsters. And for your sakes, I pray that you never hear the story of that cursed jewel." With that, he turned around and walked off into the crowd, expertly weaving his way through the throng of people. _

He stopped glaring at the man; it wouldn't do any good to keep it up. Instead, he looked up at the sky, noting the brilliant hues that stretched out across the cloudy expanse. He felt an unexpected grin stretch his mouth. It'd been so long since he'd seen a sunset that didn't include dust as part of the scenery, and he'd never seen one with the sea in the background. As the sun started its decent into the welcoming arms of the ocean, feathery rays slanted across the sky, turning the clouds vibrant shades of oranges, reds, and golds. The indigo-colored night began to stain the sky as it crept up from the ocean to claim its throne and bid farewell to the setting sun. It was a beautiful display. And slightly ruined by the soft rumble of his stomach.

Sighing, he took out his hardly worn pocket watch and popped the top. Gazing at the face of the timepiece he came to a decision. Going over to Edward, he swept aside the soft, leafy branches, reached down and grabbed Ed by the upper arm, and pulled the blond to his feet.

"Let's go, Ed, Al," he said, looking at the suit of armor. "It's almost seven o'clock. I don't know about you but I'm hungry. I know you probably don't want to, but you need to eat."

For a moment, it looked like the boy was going to protest but his stomach spoke up first, rumbling loud enough for everyone to hear. Roy smirked at the faint blush on the boy's cheeks.

"Yeah, so, let's go already! You're buying!" he said, jerking his arm out of the Flame Alchemist's grasp.

_Well of course I am._ "And why am I paying?"

"Because it's your suggestion!"

_Ah. Logical, I suppose._ He surveyed Edward with a slight frown. _If I ever have kids, they will **not** have his attitude,_ he promised himself. _Nor will they study alchemy._ Of course, if he ever produced kids, heaven help the world.

………

It wasn't exactly a restaurant, per se— more like a pub. Still, it was inside and more importantly, it was warm. The night was awfully cool now— Ed supposed that was natural when you lived on the water; the weather was probably erratic. Or it could have something to do with the storm that had suddenly blown in. Tucked into the wall nearest them was a great fireplace and the roaring heat the flames gave off felt wonderful. Currently, Edward and the Colonel were waiting for their food and drinking large tankards of spiced cider guaranteed by their waitress to warm their bones. It was working wonders. Al was the lucky one, Edward decided as he watched his brother stare into the flames. He didn't feel the cold. He paled then as the thoughts actually permeated his brain; he felt sick. Al wasn't the lucky one, he was. He could _feel_. He wasn't stuck in a suit of armor because of an idiotic mistake that his younger brother hadn't wanted to commit in the first place.

"Brother? What's wrong?"

What to tell the only light spot in your life… that was trapped as a soul in seven feet of steel? He opened his mouth to apologize for ever thinking such a thing and nixed the idea at the last possible second. Closing his eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest, and curled his lips into the smile that told Alphonse he was concealing something. "Nothing, Al. It's nothing."

"Brother, tell me," Al pleaded. He didn't want his brother to have to bear all the burdens. Ed had too many as it was! He just wanted to help...

"Yes, Fullmetal," Mustang said in the patronizing tone that never failed to make the blond fume. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, okay? Get off my back!" he spat harshly.

Mustang observed Edward from the corner of his eye as he took a long drink from his cider. Raising a brow he said, "You didn't need to raise your voice. All you had to do was tell us you didn't want to talk about it."

"Tell me, _Colonel_, what part of 'it's nothing' didn't you understand?"

Roy smirked at him but had a feeling that whatever had just bothered the blond had to do with the greatest mistake he'd ever made in his entire life. He took another long pull of the sweet apple mixture to hide his frown. Alphonse simply sighed and wished his brother wasn't so damned secretive. Might as well wish for a new body, while he was at it. Honestly, they knew how to do it; why couldn't he just suppress emotions and create the damned stone! Who cared… Al jolted and gasped drawing two sets of eyes towards him.

"Al?" Ed asked, concern lacing his voice.

"What? Oh, no, it was… umm, I thought I saw a cat," he finished weakly, hoping his brother would accept it. Of course, the suspicious look Edward gave him told him otherwise.

What the hell was going on, Roy wondered watching the brothers through narrowed eyes. Two depressed thoughts in under three minutes wasn't natural. On the impression that he was trying to get comfortable, he snuggled into the plush cushions of the booth they were seated at and scanned the room lackadaisically. His eyes encountered a pair that watched them plainly and made no effort to hide curiosity. Mustang's dark eyes narrowed at the man.

Why was he watching them? Did he know? Did he know about Ishbal and his part? Or about the taboo studies he'd conducted in his apartment? Did he know what a coward Mustang was to not have tried them, or the fact that he couldn't face up to his crimes: Ishballans, the doctors, Armstrong's injuries… Marcoh's…

What the… With a jolt, Mustang forced himself to pull out of the rut his mind had suddenly entered. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the depressing thoughts as his eyes narrowed even further at the other man. Suddenly, Edward dropped into cushions beside him and closed his eyes, looking for all the world relaxed… to the outside world, that is. Mustang looked down at Ed and surveyed his blond subordinate with a frown; the pipsqueak wasn't relaxed in the slightest.

"What's up?" the blond alchemist asked, not opening his eyes.

"We're being watched," he muttered.

Ed stiffened but didn't rise. He knew better than that. Scooting further back into the cushions, he lazily opened his eyes and looked around the room, making sure to look longingly at the kitchen a few times. "The dark-haired one?"

"That's the one."

Ed looked back at the man whom he couldn't see all too clearly. The shadows were just too dense around him. The flickering firelight battled with the dense shade giving a glimpse here and there of pale skin pulled over elegant cheekbones and a strong jaw with sensuous lips that were pulled into an amused smirk as his eerie crimson eyes watched them openly.

"Creepy, isn't he?"

"Oh, yeah," Ed replied. "And look," he said, his voice light and scornful as the stranger stood up and began to make his way to their table, "he's coming over to visit."

Sure enough, the stranger approached them and sat down without an invitation. "Buy y'all a drink?"

………

Lieutenant Colonel Hughes stifled a yawn, swiped a hand across his tired eyes, and continued to look through the business directory. The shop was very close to Central HQ so it _should_ be listed. The Fuhrer had created the rule that all businesses had to register with one of the magistrates in the state's business department. The company then went into a directory under exactly what they specialized in. This allowed officers and citizens alike to find them quickly if there was ever a need for such a thing. The shop he was interested in was a retail shop for goods that were of the metaphysical nature.

But for some reason it just wasn't listed. _It's almost like it sprang up out of nowhere. Impossible, but then I seem to be encountering a good many things that shouldn't be possible but have been._

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he blew a few loose strands of hair from his glasses and dragged his hand back up to the top. He checked the name he'd written down last night at home. Narrowing his eyes, Hughes slowly trailed an index finger down the finely printed list. It had to be here somewhere… just where?

"Interested in starting a business, Lieutenant? Perhaps a P.I. one? It'd be a success, I'm sure. Perhaps you'd be able to retire from the military early."

Maes froze in his perusal and frowned at the list. He'd recognize that snide, whiny voice anywhere. He and Falman hated the man. He tapped the bound paper in irritation and his frown grew deeper. "That's Lieutenant Colonel, Archer. Do you need a court martial to remind you?" he asked coolly.

He wasn't sure if his threat would work. Technically anyone of the higher-ranking officers could court martial someone of lower rank with proper reason. Technically.

"A court martial, sir? Isn't that a bit harsh?"

He looked up into Archer's paste-colored face and his own eyes narrowed a fraction at the barely hidden glee suppressed within those pale-gray orbs. _I understand,_ he thought. _Oh, yes, I understand. You live for conflict, you slimy bastard. If you could start a conflict using yourself as the poor victim, you would._ "Harsh?" he asked, cradling his chin in his long fingers and pretending to give what he'd just said some serious thought. "No, I don't think so. Court marshalling you just might help improve your memory. That's Lieutenant Colonel to you. Keep it up, and you'll find yourself facing said trial. Am I understood, _Lieutenant_ Archer?"

"Perfectly, sir," he responded, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. He'd expected Hughes to back down or do something stupid like pull out one of his many pictures, not threaten him with a trial.

"I'm glad we understand each other. What do you need?" he asked, still all business.

Gritting his teeth, Archer shoved a slim, manila envelope at Hughes. "Major General Hakuro said you were expecting this."

"Hmm?" Taking the package—if one could even call it that— he used a thumb to break the seal holding the envelope shut and pulled out a plain file. Opening it, his eyes quickly skimmed the information before shutting it, placing it on his desk, and clasping his hands together on top of it. "Ah, yes, thank you very much for acting as a delivery boy, Archer. I _have_ been waiting for this. Dismissed, Lieutenant."

The way the other man's face tightened with rage caused Maes's lips to twitch and he had to work valiantly not to grin: victory could wait. Instead, he just looked pointedly at the door and then at Archer. The Lieutenant's cheeks flushed—but he couldn't do anything outright; Hughes _was_ a superior officer and in charge of investigations. Gnashing his teeth, he aimed a glare of absolute loathing at Hughes, turned on his heel, and left. Narrowing his green eyes in anger, Maes launched a knife; it sank into the molding.

………

Archer heard the 'thunk' just as the door slammed behind him. His eyes widened. _Bastard!_ he thought, glaring over his shoulder at the door. _He threw something at me! But what?_ He was in the investigations department for a reason, too. If anyone ever saw the smile that lit his face they'd call it sadistic. _I'll bet I know. Rumor has it that Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is an expert knife-thrower. If I can just prove that he tossed that knife…_

"Ah, there you are, Archer."

_Not now. I'm trying to get Hughes booted from the military… _

"Did Hughes get the file…er, Lieutenant Archer? Frank?"

_On second thought… your presence here is perfect!_

Major General Hakuro called and waved, trying in vain to capture his seething subordinate's attention. He watched in bemusement as Archer flung the door to Hughes's office open.

"You bastard!" he grated, secretly pleased. His war had started; he was sure of it. "How dare you!"

"Is something wrong, Archer?" Hughes asked, nodding respectfully to Hakuro. "You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked, a light curiosity filtering into his voice.

"You…you…threw one of your _knives_ at me! I heard it hit the wall!"

Maes's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? Knives?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest and making certain that said knife was safe and sound in its holster. "You must have heard this drop," he said, picking up a book that sat on the carpeting and showing it to him. "It fell just as you slammed the door shut and smacked into the molding; Sheska's going to kill me for being so careless," he said, shuddering at the thought of the former librarian and her temper.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, what's going on here?"

"Major General, sir," he said, saluting. "I'm not sure what's happening. Lieutenant Archer here seems to think I threw a knife at him, although why, I can't imagine."

_Conniving bastard!_

Hakuro stared at the seething officer and then looked at the politely puzzled Maes Hughes. "I certainly hope that's not true, Hughes."

_So it **is** true; he does throw knives! Now I simply have to prove that he did. Where's that knife…_

"Sir, I honestly have no idea what Lieutenant Archer is talking about. This book fell off its shelf when he closed the door a bit harshly— but then, that door hates opening, so I can understand that it made him angry—"

_What! That's not true! You lying little cheat!_

"—Perhaps he heard this instead?" he finished, showing the slim hardbound volume to the two men.

Hakuro looked at Archer with a raised brow.

Archer glared at Hughes with hatred and seethed. "Yes," he bit out. "Yes, that must be it. How rude of me to assume otherwise. I'm very sorry Lieutenant Colonel Hughes." _You lying little bastard, just you wait! You'll pay for this!_

"Not a problem, Lieutenant. Sorry to have frightened you," Hughes said amicably, not missing the spark of anger in the other man's eyes. _Of course the fact that I wasted the time throwing one of my knives at you is unforgivable. I hope they'll forgive me: it won't happen again._

"How was the East, Hughes? I heard that something heavy fell on you."

"Eh-heh." Hughes looked sheepish, placed a hand on the back of his head, and fiddled with his hair nervously. "You heard about that?" he asked, an embarrassed flush spreading across his cheekbones.

_What's this?_ Archer wondered. _Something I can use against him…?_ His eyes took on a look of glee that neither officer noticed.

"Pretty hard not to. Your fellow soldiers were quite amused."

"Yes, sir," he replied with a slight laugh, the blush gone. "I just couldn't help myself! Elysia's just too adorable and I wanted to show everyone my baby girl! By the way, how're the kids, sir?"

_On the other hand…_

"Fine, fine," Hakuro said, warming to the topic despite himself and inwardly damning the investigator for knowing his weakness. "They're getting so big, I can hardly keep up with them."

"They grow up so fast," Hughes said wistfully. "One minute they're babies and we're watching them sleep in their cribs; the next, they're bringing home their first dates."

The words connected and an odd shiver went through both fathers at that point.

"So true, Hughes, so true. They _do_ grow up fast," Hakuro responded, not agreeing, disagreeing, or saying anything on the dreaded date comment. "Well, good luck to you on your current case. I'm not sure what information that file you asked for will yield but you have it. Good day to you. Archer?" With that, the Major General stepped from the room, Archer following him.

"Ah, General Hakuro, sir?" Hughes called, stepping out of the office and catching up to them.

"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel?" he asked, stopping and turning back to the man.

"I understand it's your anniversary this evening and that you're in need of a babysitter."

Hakuro stared at Hughes and blinked. How had he known…? "Yes, that's true. Mustang owes me after that bet— but he's on this latest mission with Fullmetal."

"Bet, sir?" Hughes asked, cocking his head to one side. _Mustang made a bet with Hakuro? That doesn't sound like him._

Still too shocked that Hughes knew of his anniversary and his babysitting predicament, he said, "Mustang bet that both Elrics would end up as State Alchemists. As you know, Alphonse dropped out after the first part and only Edward went on."

Actually, Hughes _hadn't_ known that but he simply nodded in agreement to Hakuro; the man crossed his arms and continued, "I don't know why Alphonse suddenly decided not to finish the exam— he did extremely well on the written portion, even better than Edward. Anyhow, Mustang lost the bet; therefore, he owes me."

"You could drop your kids off at my house, sir. I'm sure Gracia won't mind and Elysia would be happy to have playmates who aren't adults."

"Thank you, Hughes," Hakuro said, surprised. "That's most appreciated. Seven o'clock good for you? My wife and I have reservations at seven-thirty."

"Absolutely, sir."

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful! We'll drop them off then."

"We'll see you then, General Hakuro, sir," Maes said, smiling.

"Seven o'clock, Hughes," he repeated, walking off.

_What the hell!_ Archer wondered. He looked at Hakuro walking off on cloud nine and then back at Hughes as he disappeared back inside his office. _On second thought, I really don't want to know._

Back in his office, Hughes went over to the bookshelf and began to pick up and shift the other books that had fallen over when he'd removed the one he was holding. Placing said book back in its place—heaven help him if he put it in the wrong place, Sheska's wrath was nothing to mess with— he made his way over to the phone. Picking it up, he dialed and waited.

"Hi, sweetie! How's my baby girl?" he asked, cooing. "Did you have fun today? You went to the park and played with all the other kids? That's wonderful, darling! Sweetie-pie, where's mommy?" he asked. "Put mommy on the phone." Smiling, he waited, listening to his daughter carefully put the phone down and call for her mother. _She's so precious,_ he thought to himself. He couldn't stop his grin from widening when he heard his wife's voice. "Hi honey," he said. "Listen—" he added, and proceeded to tell her about his promise to General Hakuro.

………

"Well, now that was interesting. I never would have pegged him as the type to get angry," Kagura said, releasing the investigator's image from her mirror. "Wonder what was in the file? I didn't get the chance to see. No matter," she said. She brought the mirror up again to eye level and looked at her reflection. "I wonder how the others are doing…"

………

"Sure," Mustang said, slamming his foot into Ed's and ignoring the glare he got in return. After all, that hurt him more; the boot didn't make metal any softer.

Their guest smirked and gestured to the serving girl standing at the counter and chatting with the chef. Frowning, the man tapped her arm and nodded back to him. The girl went rigid but made her way over to their table, albeit reluctantly. "Yes?" she asked.

"Round of drinks here, darlin'."

Frowning at him, she turned and walked back to the counter that was illuminated by only a lone light. Filling the mugs quickly, she brought them back and set them down in front of her customers. With a frown at their visitor, the buxom redhead added an extra plunk when setting his down, causing the beer to slosh on the table. Their guest's smirk only widened.

"Thank you, darlin'," he said, slinging an arm around her hips and giving her firm bottom a pat.

She shoved his arm away and frowned viciously at him. "Owner says you do that again, you're out."

The man pouted, giving her his best puppy eyes, but she didn't soften. "Last warning," she told him. Turning to Mustang, Ed, and Al, she smiled. "As soon as he clears off, I'll bring you your food. Hopefully, it won't take too long. Chef hates for the food to grow cold," she said cheerfully. Giving their visitor one last warning glare, she smoothed down her apron and walked over to the three wet bundles that had just come into the pub.

_Well loved, aren't you?_ Mustang thought, looking at their… guest. Now that he was closer, he could see that the man's skin was even paler than he'd thought: alabaster, smooth and unblemished, not a scar on him and not one hint of a tan from the sun. _He looks like a vampire, or something equally horrifying._ The Flame Alchemist wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that he was anywhere near Hughes's caliber when it came to detective work but he wasn't stupid; he was a State Alchemist, after all—the military didn't take stupid people, although some would argue otherwise— and he knew that there was something very much off about this man.

The stranger picked up the mug of beer in front of him with a grin and took a deep drink from it. The shimmering golds and oranges danced on the man's obsidian-colored hair. The stuff looked like it was very thick and very long. In the fire's light, he could see the waves in the tightly packed strands. So how the hell did he fit long, wavy hair in the small cap without tearing the seams? Roy gave up; it wasn't really all that important. Of all the strange things he'd encountered, who cared about how he managed to get his hair one way or another?

"So."

Roy blinked and focused his attention on the man. "So?" he repeated.

That infuriating smirk curled his lips again and lit up his creepy eyes. "I hear you managed to piss off Komura Mishimi."

"Whom?"

"Komura Mishimi, he's one of the town leaders. Usually he's extremely laid back but you obviously managed to get under his skin. Good work."

"And you know this how?" Mustang asked, crossing his arms over his stomach and watching the man.

"Small Island," came the reply with a nonchalant shrug. "Word travels fast."

"Apparently." _Not. This place isn't **that** small._

The stranger chuckled and took another sip of beer. He studied the three of them over the rim of the thick, ceramic mug. Quite a group they were, what fun. "No need to get upset."

Mustang decided that he didn't like the smooth, silky bass that spoke in slow but low tones. He gave a noncommittal response that earned him another chuckle and Roy watched as he took another pull of beer. The Flame Alchemist narrowed his eyes at their guest. _Just how many drinks has he had? He's been in here at least as long as we have… probably longer. He shouldn't be this sober._

"Would you like to know the story that you've been denied?"

This sparked Roy's interest. "If you know it, absolutely. But first, _friend_, I'd like your name. Calling you guest—" _Uninvited or otherwise_— "just seems rude."

The smirk widened and another chuckle left his lips. "Mochigo Namurae, call me Namurae. And _you_, friend?" he asked, tossing Mustang's words back at him.

The Colonel felt an unpleasant grin cross his features. "Cain," he said. "Cain Havoc. These two," he said nodding to Ed and Al, "are my nephews. Russell," he said, mussing the golden-blond hair from its braid and ignoring the glare he received in return, "and Fletcher," he said, reaching across and putting his hand on Al's upper arm.

"Quite an interesting getup your nephew has."

"He has severe allergies. If he even lifts the faceplate of the armor he'll start to break out. There's a filter inside to cleanse the oxygen so whatever pollutant it carries can't hurt him."

Roy stared at Ed in barely veiled shock. What a story. He had to give the blond-haired boy credit.

"Hmm," was the only comment before Namurae took another sip of beer. "And where do you come from?"

"Dublith," Ed said.

"I'm surprised your parents allowed you to leave. Your home is very far away."

"Oh, we go back and visit often. But if you must know," Ed said, his voice taking on a laughing tone with a smile to match, "our mom was actually _happy_ we went. We're not much help around the shop— what with Fletch's allergies and me always daydreaming or writing."

"My sister Izumi was very happy to send them to me. But if I didn't take them back once in a while," Mustang said, playing along, "she'd scalp me. She's younger but scarier. Our parents often said she was a hellion," his voice took on a reminiscing tone.

"Farm work didn't agree with you?" Namurae asked. "That _is_ what Dublith is, is it not?"

"Not really… it's a bustling, thriving town," Alphonse said.

"Ah. My apologies. I was thinking of Resembool."

Ed's eyes narrowed but the blond said nothing.

"You were about to tell us the story of the jewel," Mustang pointed out, drawing the man's attention back to his promise.

Namurae frowned briefly at the Flame Alchemist, reminding Roy of a beast that had suddenly been denied its play toy. The frown then formed into that annoying smirk of his. "Ah, yes, of course. I'm sorry, Mr. Havoc. Your nephews are simply charming."

_Yeah, sure. Try another._ Roy simply smiled at the other man. "I couldn't agree with you more. My sister did a good job," he replied, casting what he hoped was a fond look at the brothers.

Ed responded with a smile that seemed to promise Mustang _pain_ and lots of it. He tousled the blond's hair again, thinking that if Ed were a cat, he'd have clawed Mustang into ribbons.

Namurae smiled again. "So, to business. You might call the Shikon Jewel an alchemic mistake."

"An alchemic mistake?" Ed repeated. To his credit, his voice didn't sound _too_ strangled.

Namurae simply looked at him, a smirk beginning to curl along his lips. "Yes," he drawled slowly. "The jewel's creator was an alchemist."

"What happened?" Al asked. Mustang's eyes narrowed when the man glanced at him and his lips quirked.

Namurae ran a slender, tapered finger around the rim of the mug and looked into it before answering. "Quite tragic, really. The story says that she was an alchemist of some renown. She was a healer—"

"A healer?" Ed interrupted. Alphonse wondered if he wasn't thinking of Dante, their teacher's teacher.

"Why, yes," replied that slow drawl. "In actuality she was a physician who preferred the term 'healer' because she used natural methods, rather than those taught at school—as well as alchemy, of course. Her main expertise was with plants, I believe, which she used to help her in her healing endeavors. One day, while on her way to a village that requested her abilities, she happened upon a man who was severely wounded. And, as I'm sure you've guessed, she healed him. He was understandably grateful.

"To show his gratitude to the woman who saved him, he began to follow her around, helping when he could, and before you ask," Namurae said, looking at Ed and Al, "no. He was not her apprentice, not yet anyway. But even a simple peasant or farmer can do basic treatments." He tossed Edward a cruel smirk. "Wouldn't you agree, Russell?"

Edward's lips compressed in fury and his golden eyes became molten. Who _was_ this man and how did he know that Ed and Al had grown up in a country where farming was paramount for survival? Mustang saw him bite his tongue to restrain himself from snarling but even the Flame Alchemist could see that it was a losing battle: the man was enjoying his taunting. He ghosted his fingers over Ed's shoulder and gave the boy a blank look when he glanced at his superior. Blinking, he turned back to the man and returned the taunting smirk with an arrogant smile.

"Yeah," he replied. "Sure. You were saying?"

"Hmm," Namurae said, tilting his head to the side and leaning it on a propped up fist. "Ah, yes. The more the man watched her, the more his admiration grew. She tried to discourage him but he would not relent. He insisted on paying her back for helping him."

"Then why not pay a fee?" Mustang asked.

Their uninvited guest grinned in response. "You're forgetting that he was a poor man, extremely so. In a way, his survival depended on her grace."

"So what happened?" Ed asked. "Could you stop beating around the bush and get to the jewel?"

_Same old Edward,_ Mustang thought.

"Of course. How silly of me to forget that children do not have the aptitude to sit through long stories."

"You going somewhere with that?" Edward asked, narrowing his eyes at the man.

"Absolutely not," came the reply accompanied by his smirk.

_I don't like his smirk, either. It's all he's got, except that glib tongue,_ Mustang thought. How wrong he was.

"Anyhow, the story goes on to say that one day, she went to a village that requested her services and there fell in love with one of her patients. You can just imagine how her admirer took that. She moved to the village to be with the man she loved and her charge, now her apprentice, came with her. He was also her caretaker and took care of her house and her plants for her while she tended to those who sought her. To the outside world, the woman's lover, and to her, he gave the image of being happy for her; she needed happiness and it was obvious he wouldn't be able to grant it. In secret, however, his rage and jealousy festered and consumed him until his heart grew black with his hatred.

"He secretly began to study alchemy in hopes that if he used it around her, she would notice him and leave her lover. The years passed and it never happened— she never even noticed. He grew to hate her and her lover. One day, another village, about a day's journey away, called upon her. The headman's wife was soon to go into labor and they requested her to deliver the baby. She agreed and set out, but not before her lover asked her to marry him. She promised that when she returned from delivering the baby, she would become his wife.

"Preparations for the wedding started. Truthfully, those in the village knew that it was only a matter of time before the couple decided to settle down. Her admirer however, had a different plan in mind. The night before her return, he made a blade with his alchemy and killed her fiancé. The deed done, he left the house and took up residence where he could watch her. He wasn't disappointed. She came home from an extremely hard delivery only to find her lover dead and her former admirer gone. All that was left was the blade that he'd transfigured of the sake cups for the wedding, turned back to their original state and filled to the brims with blood.

"For the first time, she understood that it hadn't been the best idea to save him; he was a bandit, after all, and a wanted man according to the lord of the lands. Her heart turned to stone and she began to hate him. She swore that she would have revenge for what he'd done… why exactly do you look like you're about to fall asleep?" he asked Edward.

"Sorry," the blond replied, yawning. "It sounds like a sappy love tale. I was hoping for more action."

"You're in luck then," he said, pausing to take a quick drink from his mug. Setting it on the table he looked thoughtful for a moment. "I told you she vowed vengeance, and she meant it. But when they met to duel it out, alchemist to alchemist, things were not as she planned. He'd been experimenting, you see. He'd tried human transmutation, the forbidden aspect of alchemy and the beings that had stepped out instead, he used alchemy to bind them to his body… or rather, he found a way to… incorporate them, shall we say. It was her against an amalgamation. The story doesn't say just how long the battle waged but it was long and gruesome. In the end, she grew tired while he didn't. After all, homunculi generally don't get tired and he'd forged them into his body.

"She went to the forbidden art, too. Using the same formula and circle as him, she made him part of her. This brought an end to their battle but not to him. He could still contact her with his mind and he tried to make her do terrible things. She quit her post as a healer and moved away from the village to prevent any harm from befalling it. She realized that she needed to do away with him once and for all before the creature that he'd become overpowered her completely. She worked endlessly to create an array that would do what she wanted, despite the influence from him. It's been said that several times he almost managed to take control of her. Finally, three years later, she completed a transmutation circle that would be able to achieve what she needed.

"The story says that on a moonless night, she went out into a vast field and drew the circle. She stood in the middle and activated it. The array began to strip away everything that composed her and him. You understand what that means, right? She began to break down her own body and his. But she couldn't bear to finish it out. At the last possible second, she changed one crucial aspect of the array that she'd created. Instead of turning both bodies to ashes, it turned them into a crystallized stone," he finished, looking at them.

"The Shikon Jewel," Edward said.

"Why call it that?" Mustang asked. "Where did 'shikon' come from? If I'm not mistaken, that translates to four souls, or dead souls."

Namurae smirked again. "Smart of you to notice that," he said, his tone faintly condescending.

Roy barely suppressed a growl; it was only thanks to Edward kicking him in the shin and sending _him_ the warning glance. He sent a glare at the boy.

The smirk on the man's face widened at the display. "It's said that he fused only two homunculi with him. Plus her soul and the soul of the man. Add them up and you get four."

"Homunculi don't have souls," Edward said flatly. "They're false copies created to fill a void in place of the original thing when human transmutation fails."

Too much, he'd said too much, he realized a second after the words left his mouth. Roy kicked him viciously and Al brought his fist down on his head.

"And how would you know so much about homunculi?" Namurae asked, ignoring Ed's cry of pain.

"An article I wrote," Mustang said quickly, sending Edward a warning glare. "I interviewed a prisoner on death row for trying human transmutation and he mentioned the homunculi and their lack of souls."

"Ah. I suppose that explains it," Namurae drawled slowly. "You have a good memory, Russell."

"Yeah," Ed agreed. "I do. A _very_ good memory."

Roy bopped him on the head in the same place where Al hit him. "That's enough, Russell," he said smiling at the fuming blond. "I'm sure Namurae-san here doesn't want to hear your boasting. You're not that precious."

"Child abuser," Edward mumbled darkly, rubbing the sore spot and wincing.

Smiling, Mustang hit him yet again. _Ah vengeance,_ he thought. _Payback for all the times you've annoyed me. Life is good._

When Edward started to curse at his superior, Namurae smiled and stood: his deed was done. The bickering stopped and they looked at him; he smiled at them.

"I wish you all a pleasant evening," he said, picking up his mug and giving them a quick salute before walking away.

A feeling of relief swept through them as they watched him depart. A few seconds later, three steaming bowls of stew were placed in front of them. The three of them stared at the food and then shared a glance with each other. After that tale… neither Ed nor Mustang was very hungry at all. Still, they picked up their spoons and began to eat mechanically; knowing they'd need the strength the food would give them.

………

Shouldering one of the swinging doors open, Namurae turned around and watched the two eat their food emotionlessly. Smirking again, he quit the pub's entrance and walked towards the water. On his way, he came across a small group of men who were grumbling about the strangers. Smiling, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way to them.

"Evening," he called.

"Evening," one responded cautiously.

One offered him a cigarette and he took it, gesturing for a light. Exhaling smoke into the air, he looked at the group. "Nice night," he commented lazily.

"It'd be nicer if those nosy strangers weren't here."

"Can't argue with you there, friend," Namurae said, exhaling more smoke. Letting the cigarette smolder, he studied the group for a second. "What if I told you where they're currently staying?"

"Where?" one short, pudgy one asked.

"What will you give me?" he asked, studying the cigarette.

"Whatever you want," said the one who'd given him the smoke.

"Good enough. Very well. They're staying at the inn owned by Arashimichi."

"'Michi-kun's place? By the heavens, why would he put them up?"

The men started to discuss this amongst themselves. Namurae slipped away and continued on his way, polishing off the cigarette as he walked. _Humans have truly odd inventions._ Looking back at them, he smirked and disappeared.

………

Komura Mishimi looked up from his reading and stared out into the black, moonless night. He had a bad feeling…

………

_Little did we know just how interesting things were about to get. The journey was proving perilous and we'd barely scratched the surface. The island, which according to tourist brochures promised friendly hospitality, was fast becoming an unfriendly, violent place with a price on our blood._

………

Author's notes: And here's yet another chapter. Honestly, I just couldn't think of a way to get this chapter started. And then, I found myself watching an old episode of _Star Trek _before leaving for work and it hit me—why not start the chapter like they do sometimes, with the captain or vice-captain narrating to their logs? It worked out rather well, if I do say so myself.

A tentative preview for chapter four, titled _**The Tower **or **The Hanged Man**_.

_Lieutenant Colonel Hughes stuck his head in the room and grinned at Roy's lieutenant and right-hand man…woman. _

"_Howdy-hey, Lieutenant Hawkeye!" he crowed jovially, saluting her indolently with two fingers._

"_Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes," she replied saluting him back properly, disapproval clear in her rigid stance._

"_Now, now Hawkeye. Roy's not here, you don't need to be so uptight," he chided._

"_Did you need something, sir?" she asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from her superior, whom she dearly missed._

"_No, not really. Actually, I was wondering if I couldn't **borrow** you for a few hours."_


	5. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four: The Tower**_

Umm… happy belated holidays and a good, healthy, and happy new year to all my readers—assuming you all are still with me. I do apologize for the excruciating lateness of this chapter. Unfortunately, classes got in the way of writing and so did work—the roommates did, too. Nothing saps creativity like three roommates with polaric temperaments—especially when you're stuck mediating; and/or making them realize their own stupidity. You may blame the extreme tardiness of this chapter on them and the two aforementioned things above.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned either anime, I wouldn't be writing a fanfic; this story would be included in the overall plot. That said; let's move onto the chapter, shall we?

………

"They weren't any trouble, were they?" Hakuro asked, his voice barely above a whisper and his eyes on the three children that slumbered on the couch in an odd, twisted tangle.

"None at all," Hughes assured him. "As you can see, they wore themselves out. Elysia was extremely happy to have playmates," he continued, smiling. "You should bring your children by more often, sir."

"I just might," Hakuro said, turning back to him. The fire's light glinted off something in Hughes's hair; the general frowned as his gaze settled on the object.

"Something wrong, sir?" Hughes asked, noticing his stare. "Do I have something on my face?" he said, reaching up a hand and gently patting his fingers on his cheeks. "I thought I got all the cookie dough off," he said, still searching for the traces that weren't there.

"Maes," Hakuro said, not really wanting to know about the dough, "you have a barrette in your hair."

"Ah, damn!" As the curse left his mouth, his eyes flew open and swung to the still sleeping children and watched them intently. When they didn't stir or give any signs that they even heard the adults, he breathed a sigh of relief; he would live for the next couple of days, it seemed. He sent a thankful prayer to the heavens. "Another one?" he whispered, patting his head with the hope of locating the rogue hair accessory.

"A little more to the left. Now down," the blond-haired man instructed.

Smiling gratefully, Hughes snapped the metal to release the clump of hair it held prisoner and set the green barrette on the coffee table. "Thank you. Gracia thought she'd gotten them all, but…"

"Why was it there in the first place?"

"Your daughter and mine decided it'd be fun to play hair dresser, and your son, upon hearing this took residence under the couch in the upstairs den and avoided the girls like the plague until the cookies were done."

"And the cookie dough?" Hakuro asked, a sneaking suspicion niggling in the back of his mind.

"Ah, that," Maes said, nervously. He reached up a hand to the back of his head, fiddling with the hair there. It was a nervous gesture that he couldn't seem to help.

The general sighed. "He threw cookie dough at his sister, didn't he?"

Maes lowered his arm. "More like he started a miniature war in the kitchen, seeing as the girls retaliated. Gracia kicked them all out. He's done this before, hasn't he?" Hughes asked, seeing the exasperated look on Hakuro's face.

"Is it that obvious?"

"From one parent to another, yes."

"Who cleaned them up?"

"Gracia cleaned up the girls and washed the clothes. I shoved your son into a bath, and made him clean himself up—the nightgown's still wet from when he landed in the water. No offense intended. It was either that, or leave him covered in dough. And between the two girls, your son didn't fare very well."

Well no wonder the girls looked so radiant and his son looked like a pig had cleaned him. "I did that once; I thought my wife would murder me when she came home and saw him all decked out in dried-up, raw cookie dough," he said in a rare display of camaraderie.

Maes chuckled. "I'm sure mine would have buried me alive if I'd ever done that."

The two men shared tentative grins and stood in companionable silence, watching their children as they slept unaware of the protective eyes looking at them. The quiet was broken when Hakuro voiced a question that had been bothering him since earlier that day.

"Say, Hughes, why exactly did you request the business registration laws and forms for new businesses? Archer said that you were intending to open your own P.I. firm. Is that true?"

_Next time Archer, I **won't** miss,_ Hughes thought menacingly. _My knife **will** be the very last thing you ever see, you damned, interfering busybody,_ he thought savagely. "I'm afraid Lieutenant Archer is speculating without facts. Really, though," he said, holding up an index finger the way a teacher would, "as an investigator, he should know better. Nothing's more fatal to a case than jumping to conclusions," he lectured. _Actually, he's sticking his nose where it shouldn't be; it's going to suffer a **sharp** mishap soon._ Crossing his arms, he said, "I have no intention of starting a P.I. business; or a business,period, at this point. Now when I retire from active duty, that's another story. Gracia's always contemplated opening a shop of some sort. I think a baking shop would do quite nicely, or maybe a restaurant.

"I asked for the form and its accompanying policies because I'd been off in La-La Land walking home the other night and went too far past my street," he said, returning to the subject at hand. "Before I knew it, I was standing in front of a shop I'd never seen before, so I checked to see if it was listed."

"And it's not."

"No," Hughes said, nodding in agreement.

"Now who's speculating without facts?"

"With all due respect, sir, I've been down that street numerous times; the shop is very new. Our laws state that all businesses must be registered before they open. And seeing how it's still unregistered, I thought I would do the shop proprietor a favor by dropping off the form and corresponding rules."

"Alone?" Hakuro asked, raising his brow in surprise. What was Maes thinking?

"Well, no. I'd planned to ask Hawkeye to accompany me."

"May I remind you that you are an investigator and not military police?"

"Noted, sir," Hughes said, sitting on the arm of the couch.

"Then you can ask someone who _is_ military police to deliver it for you."

"No, sir, I can't."

"Why ever not?" he asked, exasperated.

For a moment, Hughes debated with himself what to tell the other man. It was true that rank-wise, Hakuro was his superior, but Hughes did not report to him directly. Still… after this, Hakuro owed him. He eyed the barrette sitting innocuously on the table; the general had a _major_ debt right now.

"Hughes?"

"Sir?"

"You were saying…" Hakuro prompted.

Maes sighed. "Off the record and confidential," he said.

"We're not in uniform, Hughes."

"With all due respect, sir—you're questioning me as a superior officer," Maes said steadily.

_Damn,_ Hakuro thought. _He doesn't miss a trick,_ he thought ruefully. _If Archer were half as good, his cases wouldn't take so long and Military Court would actually be able to **proceed** instead of prisoners just sitting in jail twiddling their thumbs!_ Hughes was right, of course, he realized, thinking over their conversation. What had started as an innocent question had turned into a full-fledged discussion with him as the inquisitor. After a quick glance at the kids to make sure they were asleep and another fleeting glance in the direction where their wives had gone, he crossed his arms and grudgingly nodded at Hughes. "Off the record," he repeated, "and confidential."

"How much do you know about Ed and Roy's latest mission?"

………

From: the personal log of Colonel Roy Mustang—

_A bad feeling— defined as an inexplicable hunch or instinct that something isn't right; or, the foreboding sense that something will happen and soon… something that isn't good, generally. Foreshadowing doom, according to the dictionary._

_Lunacy, nonsense; it's as improbable as magic, I told myself. **Scientists** don't believe in bad feelings, I mocked. As such, neither do I, because I am a scientist—an alchemist, to be more precise. For me, the world is divided into equations that break down the natural world and explain how it works through numbers and formulas. **Bad feelings** are not explained by equations, ergo; they cannot be trusted or believed in._

_But humans do believe in them. Somehow, over the years, while I sat at a desk as a Colonel or superior officer of some sort and issued orders, I lost sight of the fact that first and foremost, I was human; am human, still. _

_That bad feeling started in the bar when Hughes first showed me that damned book._

………

Sighing, Roy rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen. It was stronger than ever.

_What a complete hypocrite I am,_ he thought. _I criticize Edward for believing in magic, but here I am, lying awake because I **feel** that something terrible is going to happen,_ he thought, settling a palm over his eyes and sighing again. Turning onto his right side, he stared at the wall for a few minutes. _Enough of this,_ he thought. _Nothing's going to happen,_ he chided, closing eyes.

He dreamed.

He was back at Ishbal.

_No, I don't want to be here. Anywhere but here!_

But it was no use. The memory continued to play its dreadful recording.

It was the night they'd committed the massacre; the night that had single-handedly put an end to the seven-year war between the military and the Ishballans. He shivered; he wanted to forget—forget his disgusting part in the senseless tragedy that he was hailed as a hero for. All around him, the ground bucked, heaved, and broke apart as explosions rocked it and reduced the buildings to rubble. Shouts and screams of terror from the surprise attack rent the air; he hated it. He clamped his head over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the sounds of terror. He hated being here, he hated dreaming about it. He hated the ghosts that haunted his waking and sleeping memory. Worse, he hated reliving the moments that made him into something lower than a human being; the familiar disgust with himself was beginning to well up.

"If you hate it so much, why do you come here?"

Blinking, he turned and looked at the person who'd spoken, hoping it was Hawkeye. It wasn't his gun-happy Lieutenant, he realized with disappointment. The person who stood adjacent to him wore a lilac-colored dress with an apron tied about her slim waist. She turned and faced him. Mustang felt his mouth drop open. What the hell was the Fuhrer's secretary doing in his dream? And why was she dressed like a housewife? Why couldn't she wear miniskirts…best not to continue that line of thought, he advised himself. This was more than a little disturbing.

He opened his mouth to name her, but stopped. Though they looked eerily similar, there were minute differences. Her hair wasn't as long and it was a lighter shade of brown than Juliet Douglass's and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her eyes were a hazel color that shone with kindness and understanding. He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his own coal-colored eyes. He'd seen those eyes before… no, he'd seen her face before—or a likeness of it— beyond her similarity to Ms. Douglass.

And then he remembered. Resembool—before Ed and Al attempted to bring their mother back. He'd seen Hoenheim's sons before they'd tried. Alphonse—_that_ was where he'd seen her face; Alphonse looked like his mother, right down to his eyes—at least, before he'd lost his body. "Mrs. Elric? What are you doing here in my nightmare?"

"I seem to be everywhere these days," she said, waving the question away. "Why do you come here?"

He frowned. "So that even though I want to, I never forget."

"Forget?" she echoed. "There's a difference between tormenting oneself and forgetting. This," she said gesturing to the carnage, "is torment. You need to move on at some point, you know. Let's change the scenery."

The massacre disappeared and was replaced with lush green acres and ripe produce in need of picking. In one of those fields they stood; she was picking apples and placing them in the basket held on her hip with ease.

"They always did neglect helping me with the harvesting," she said fondly, stopping what she was doing and wiping away the fine sheen of sweat on her brow. Putting the half-full basket down, she picked out two ripe apples and handed him one. Taking it, he took the opportunity to look for the boys. _Where are they_ he wondered. He spotted them at the river not far from their house. They were sprawled out haphazardly on their backs in the thick grass with emerald-colored shoots decorating their clothing and hair; they giggled, gasped, and panted contentedly.

She joined his gaze. "Seems they got into a tussle. It always did amaze and irritate me at how my sons managed to disappear whenever work needed to be done."

"I don't think he's changed much. He avoids HQ at all costs."

She gave him a penetrating look. "Is that so?"

"Partially," he replied, watching a sweet-faced girl with short, light blond hair trot over to Ed and Al. _Winry Rockbell_. The name slid through him along with the unpleasant memory of what he'd done to that poor child. He shuddered involuntarily and tried to ignore the images of the past.

"Stop it," she said sharply.

Her voice brought him back—the surrounding area stopped shifting. Taking a deep breath, he looked over at the three kids again and saw Al and Winry laughing at a pouting Edward. Roy smiled sadly. "I think your son hates me," he confessed to her.

"I think 'hate' is too strong a word for you," she replied.

"Why do you say that?" he asked curiously.

"I think perhaps," she said, "that it's an appropriate word for his father, but not for you. Edward's still a child, if his actions and thoughts are anything to judge by."

That certainly hadn't been the answer he was expecting. "I beg your pardon?" he asked. "I have to disagree with you. Edward isn't a child."

"And how many adults do you know that react the way Edward does when criticized about his height?"

There was no refuting that one, he knew. He didn't know _any_ adults that would act that way.

"I rest my case," she said. "I would say that Edward is perpetually annoyed with you and I'd venture to guess that he doesn't understand."

His brow furrowed. "Understand what?"

"Why you tease him so mercilessly." Her eyes twinkled at his sheepish look. "And why you send him on missions with only the bare minimum of information thereby prolonging the assignment."

Mustang touched his throat gently. "Your son put that beloved blade of his to my throat for that offense," he sulked.

She shrugged. "You were about to turn him into toast. Call it self defense."

"He told me to finish him," he said. "Remind me to thank your husband for Edward's temper—if I ever manage to find him."

Trisha Elric laughed. "Edward didn't get his temper from his father," she chortled. "He got it from me!"

He gaped at her. Her grin only widened. "I'm sorry," he said carefully. "I don't think I heard you properly."

"No, I think you did. I was the one with the temper. One had to push Hoenheim quite a bit to get an angry reaction from him. His head was always in the clouds thinking, or his nose was buried in an alchemy book — at least, when we were a family; I don't know about now. But I do know that Edward got his temper from me."

_Great,_ Roy thought. _That's just perfect_. He managed an unconvincing smile at the information, sending his odd companion into peals of laughter. He glared at her grumpily. _Ha, ha,_ he thought crossing his arms and pouting childishly. _**Real** funny._

"Don't stop what you're doing," she said, when her laughter subsided. She regarded him with a serious expression.

"What? Glaring at you?"

"No. _That_ you can stop. It makes you look childish. I, at least, understand the motive behind your actions."

"Oh?" he asked.

"Your constant teasing and assigning of cases with little to no information makes him reluctant to return to you and give reports, so he avoids the task as long as possible. Not only does this give Ed the chance to learn, explore, and search, but it keeps him away from the military as much as it can. Pushing people away like that is effective in this case."

It was creepy how well she could read him; she didn't even know him and yet she read him like an open book — quite a feat considering many of his associates couldn't make heads or tails of him. "You're partially correct. I _do_ try to keep Ed away as much as possible for his protection. So yes, I send him on missions without information and I tease him mercilessly. But that's not my only motivation."

"Well then let's hear the other one."

"It's fun," he said, smirking. "I rather like teasing the pipsqueak."

She huffed in annoyance, crossed her arms, and aimed a glare at him; his smirk widened. "You were an only child, weren't you?"

His response was a lazy smile.

"It shows," she said, nodding decisively to herself. "But you'll continue, won't you?" she asked.

"What? Making fun of Edward? Sure," he said, shrugging.

Pain lanced through his scalp like lightning and then receded, settling to throb gently at the back of his head where he'd been hit. Pressing one hand to the smarting area, he glared at Trisha Elric. She lowered her arm back down to her side and matched his glare. Sighing, he closed his eyes, only to see in his mind the beseeching look that Edward had worn not even a day ago. Superimposed over Ed's face was his mother's with the same expression; it was an eerie contrast. Opening his eyes, he smiled gently. "You don't even have to ask," he told her.

"Thank you, Colonel Mustang."

He opened his mouth to ask her a question, but she stiffened suddenly and her eyes widened. A grave, knowing look settled over her features. "You should wake up now."

"What? Why?"

"Time to start keeping your promise to me."

"Wait!" he said. But the dream was fading, dissolving fast, and far off, he could hear a steady, familiar roar. "Wait!" he called to the disappearing image. "What's happening? What's going on?"

"You're the Flame Alchemist," she said. And then, she was gone.

Smoke filled his lungs.

His eyes flew open in sudden realization and he fell from the bed, coughing and wheezing. Quickly, he clamped one hand over his mouth and nose and gazed around wildly. _What the…_ His mind finally registered what was happening._ Bastards,_ he thought viciously. _Just wait, if I get my hands on you…_ He let the threat trail off. There was no doubt what he'd do to them. But first he had to get out of the place alive with Edward and Alphonse in the same condition.

_You're the Flame Alchemist_.

_I am indeed,_ he thought grimly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two gloves and slipped them on. Snapping his fingers, he decreased the oxygen. The flames went down, but didn't die out. Still, he'd bought some time—for this room at least; he wasn't so sure about himself: it was already getting hard to breathe He began to walk over to the door. Before he could reach it, the door burst open and Alphonse barreled in.

"Colonel!" he cried.

"Alphonse," he replied nodding. "Good. Where's Fullmetal?"

"I don't know!" came the dismayed reply.

_I take it back,_ he thought,_ that's not good._

………

_I'd made a promise to someone who was dead-- while I was dreaming, no less; Edward was MIA, Alphonse had no clue **where** he was, and oh, the hotel was burning down—albeit more slowly than a building normally does, thanks to me, but still burning all the same. The night just kept getting better and better._

………

He thought fast: they had to get out and get away without being seen. Since they were not expected to make it out alive, that might be easily accomplished; but if they knew about his abilities as an alchemist, then it was safe to say they'd be lying in wait. Mustang hoped beyond hope that they were clueless. But like any good—or rather, seasoned—soldier, he took into account that most likely, hope wasn't going to save them. He tossed a quick glance out the window and allowed a small smirk to surface. Perfect. The smirk died when he heard steel trying to quietly exit the room. Perfect, except for Alphonse trying to leave the room.

"Alphonse Elric!" he called sharply.

The suit of armor stopped suddenly, looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Al reluctantly turned and looked at the Colonel. "Yes?" he asked innocently.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To find my brother?" he replied.

"Absolutely not."

"What? But why not?"

If the fire wasn't threatening the wall nearest to him he'd have banged his head. Closing his eyes, he took a breath, and asked whatever god was listening for patience and, more importantly, time. "Because the hotel is burning down?"

"But you stopped the flames!" He looked at the small embers chewing at the wood in the corners. "Mostly," he added.

"You're going out there," he said, gesturing to the dark landscape outside the window with his thumb. "And you're going to hide near enough to the edge of the forest where I can find you."

"What? But why?"

"Why?" he echoed. "What do you mean, _why_? Because you're the kid and I'm the adult? Because whoever did this might know that I'm an alchemist and expect something like this to happen? Because I'm the superior and I'm ordering you?"

All at once, the dismayed, questioning tone disappeared; Al straightened and stood at full height. His expression went from distressed to solemn in a matter of seconds. "No, I won't. I'm going to find my brother first," he said. "You may be Brother's superior, but you're not mine. In case you've forgotten, Colonel," Al spat, "_you_ made me drop out of the exam!"

His eyes narrowed and sharpened. _I don't believe I'm arguing something that **should **be common sense to him. When we meet next, Mrs. Elric, you and I **will** be talking about this._ "And how would you have explained that blood seal in your armor, Alphonse?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone dangerously pleasant.

"You don't know that they wouldn't have asked me questions like they did Brother!"

_This really isn't the time to be arguing with him. I'm wasting precious oxygen._ "I do," he said.

"How?" Al asked suspiciously.

"What, you think a seven-foot suit of armor that walks, talks, and takes an alchemy exam is _normal_? You think Gran didn't start to _suspect_ your secret? Be logical, Alphonse! The minute they saw you they were bound to issue that you take the physical should you pass the written exam."

"But—"

Roy cut him off. "No! No buts! No if's and no and's!" he snarled. Stalking over to the window, he drew an array on the wall. "You're leaving the hotel now," he said, pressing a gloved hand on the outer lines of the circle. It lit up brilliantly, like a shooting star. The wood on the other side of the window flew out and down to the ground, reforming into steps as it went. He looked back at Alphonse and his eyes softened. "Alphonse, as wondrous as your temporary body is, it's still susceptible to high temperatures. Fire _melts_ metal. As one scientist to another, I certainly don't need to tell you that. I also don't need to tell you that if anything happens to your blood seal, you're history," he finished, hating himself for distressing the boy.

He nodded to the newly formed staircase. "Leave the Fullmetal one to me. We'll see you at the bottom."

"Colonel," he said, not quite knowing what to say.

"_Go_, Alphonse. I'm not going to tell you again. Remember, if anything happens to you, Edward will destroy himself. You're the only thing keeping him going."

That shut him up. Clambering over to the window, he paused only to pick up Mustang's bags. Said man looked back at him as if he'd grown another head. "I've already got Ed's and mine," he told him sheepishly, patting his stomach.

Roy sighed in exasperation. "Yes, yes—that's fine. Now hurry!" he said, pointing to the outside.

"Right!" the boy said, nodding and starting down the newly formed stairs. The Colonel's voice stopped him momentarily.

"Where would Ed have gone?" he asked.

"Somewhere where he could think," he responded automatically.

Mustang nodded. "Move," he said shortly.

Al began his descent once again.

As soon as he was sure that Al was safely on the ground and in the safety of the dark woods—at least, more safe than the hotel at the moment—he began to try and figure out where Edward would have gone. _Al said somewhere where he'd be able to think. Knowing Ed, that's probably more like drowning in self-pity and self-hatred. Still, he'd need to be alone for that or Al would question him relentlessly. If I needed to be alone to brood and I were a blond pipsqueak, where would I go,_ he wondered putting his hand to his chin and rubbing his lower lip absentmindedly. He looked up and titled his head to the side; his eyes narrowed in realization. _The roof._

………

_While it served to shut Al up temporarily and get him out of the building, I'm almost positive that he didn't believe me when I told him that if anything happened to him, Edward would destroy himself. Unfortunately, it's very true. Maybe it's just one of those things that only adults can see. Or, as a pesky guest in dreams would comment, it's a parental thing. Maes has presented this notion to me before, too, only to go running from my flames. Edward would willingly try human transmutation again to bring Al back; he'd sacrifice whatever he had to. On a darker note, his quest might just come to that. He hasn't exactly gotten results with other methods… _

………

Holding one hand aloft, fingers poised to snap, he took a few minutes to survey the hallway. He looked speculatively at the path leading to main stairwell to his left, but found himself leaning to the right and hoping there was a set of stairs there, too. He wasn't sure where the fire had started—inside or outside—but it was likely to assume that if started inside, the _wonderful, peace-loving_ townspeople had torched the main stairwell, just in case the visitors they were trying to kill decided to attempt escaping. _People will logically use or try to use the main exit for evacuating first._ His mind made up, he turned right and went down the hall. _If there's no stairway, I can make one! The same goes for doors!_

………

_As luck would have it, there **was** a stairwell. That's also where the odds were against me: they led up to the attic. Perhaps not so unfortunate, after all—the attic was right below where I needed to be, at least; or so I hoped. I was relying on the chance that I knew Edward well enough to predict where he'd go if he wanted to be alone._

………

_Edward,_ he thought grimly, his eyes sweeping around the cramped space that was the attic, _you'd feel right at home in this room. It's midget-sized, just like you, _he thought, hastily drawing an array with a well-used—in actuality an abused—piece of chalk. The circle complete, he activated it and shoved the new door open. When he saw the sky and a slim view of ground above the doorway, he allowed himself a quick, triumphant smirk that melted into a frown one second later: smoke had begun to slip into the room. On an oath, he hauled himself out and slammed the door shut; it sealed behind him.

Stooping down and keeping low, he gazed around, fervently wishing he wouldn't have to travel far to find the errant blond. Squinting in the flickering light, he thought he saw a spark glinting off metal. Whether it was auto-mail or a weapon of sorts, he didn't know, but he made his way cautiously towards what he hoped was automail. When his eyes encountered a blond braid, he breathed a sigh of relief. His luck had returned momentarily, it seemed. Crouching, he inspected the boy. Edward's breathing was light and rhythmic, his chest went up and down systematically, and his eyelids flickered rapidly, but his face was peaceful, serene even, despite the uncomfortable position he'd sprawled himself into.

Mustang let out a breath and shook his head. It wasn't fair, he decided. He knew that Ed wouldn't suffer more than a few hours from sleeping in that position. If _he'd_ slept like that, he'd feel it for _days_. _Children are so resilient. Ah, the beauty of youth,_ he thought whimsically. _Anyhow._ He turned his mind back to the task at hand._ Now I just have to get him down. Easier said than done—we can't go back inside, either. The fire's spread too far._ Sweeping his eyes over the roof, he frowned and took out the abused chalk he'd gotten from Alphonse and drew another array. _It'd be more convenient if you were awake and did this,_ he thought, glancing at the still-sleeping boy. _Unfortunately, I know what you're like when suddenly awoken and should you see that it was **me** who woke you, not only will I never hear the end of it, but everyone else in hearing distance will know we're not dead._ Gently pressing his hand to the transmutation circle, he watched blue light overtake the white lines; the glowing circle began to crackle with electricity as the roof heaved and groaned in response to being broken down and reformed. When the stones remade themselves, he removed his hand and crawled over to Edward.

Now came the risky part. He hoped against hope that no one had seen that feat of alchemy and now had their eyes focused on the roof. He didn't think he had enough energy for running, dashing, and dodging miscellaneous weapons and attacks. Grabbing Ed's arms as gently as he could, he heaved the boy up and over his shoulder. He felt the effects of the automail weighing him down immediately and nearly pitched forward, barely managing to catch himself with one hand. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay upright and slowly began to straighten up, biting his lip as he did so to keep from groaning. _Damn it, Fullmetal, you had better find that stone and restore your body soon! You're heavy! How the hell can a pipsqueak like you be so cumbersome?_

Once he was standing, he wiped away the sweat that had broken out on his forehead, wrapped one arm around Ed's waist to keep him from falling, and looked around cautiously. So far, so good. Holding his breath, he started down the stairs as quietly and as possible, wincing at every sound. When he finally reached the forest, he breathed again. Turning around, he watched the fire consume the building at a rapid rate—now that he was no longer affecting the oxygen—for a few seconds before turning again and looking for Alphonse; Mustang didn't think they were too far apart, but again, he couldn't be sure. A piece of the roof collapsed in the blaze.

The crashing woke Edward from his slumber. Crinkling his brow, he peered at the ground through sleep-filled eyes. Closing them again, he allowed himself to drift off into a light doze until a pounding in his head woke him up again. He focused on the ground and shook his head gently, trying to clear it. A faint twist of the back he was leaning against brought him fully to reality. Tilting his head a bit, he realized he was looking at someone's backside and judging by his distance from the ground, someone male. _Al,_ he wondered. _No, it can't be Al; I can't feel the coldness of his armor. So who's holding me? _From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a white-glove encased hand— an angry, red flush spread on his cheekbones—he _knew_ that glove! _Bastard Colonel,_ he thought angrily. _What the hell do you think you're doing?_

Another crash made him freeze; the scent of smoke caused his insides to turn to jelly and a fine tremor began throughout his slight frame. _Please don't let me see what I think I'm going to... they couldn't be that vicious here, could they?_ Slowly and hoping against hope, he turned his head towards the source of the sound. His stomach churned: the hotel was on fire—and another piece of the roof—the very place where he'd fallen asleep, had just collapsed into the sea of flames. _But we're outside, aren't we? We're far away from there, me, the Colonel, and Al._ He twisted his head, looking for his little brother. _Al,_ he thought, _where's Al? He's out here, isn't he? Where is he? Why can't I see him?_ Another piece of the roof joined its fallen comrades and he turned reluctantly back to the blaze. A horrible thought came to him. What if Al hadn't made it? What if the Colonel hadn't bothered to try and save him, too? What if Mustang had abandoned him in the fire? In his mind's eye, Ed could see him smirking cruelly at his brother and turning with Ed over his shoulder, abandoning him in the fire he'd probably started…

_No,_ he berated, giving himself a mental slap. _Colonel Mustang would never do that!_ But where was his brother? He should be the one holding him, not the Colonel. And if Al had made it, he'd have been resting with his brother keeping watch over him. The only logical solution to him was that Al simply hadn't made it, and he didn't know why.

"Al," he called weakly. "Al," he said again, stronger this time. "Al, Al, Al!" he cried, struggling vainly to get Mustang to let him go.

"Fullmetal!" he heard distantly. "Edward, stop it! If they're around, you'll bring them right to us!"

He paid no attention to the voice or the man calling his given and military name. All he could focus on was getting down to find the brother he called for repeatedly. "Al!" he cried, beating and struggling against the arm that systematically tightened around his waist. He pounded on the man's lower back. "Let me go! He's my brother! How could you leave him behind! Al! Al, answer me!"

Roy winced and suppressed a pained groan as Edward's fists landed on his spine. Of all the things to happen, he'd least expected this, although, he probably should have. A crashing sound reverberated through the wooded area and Alphonse burst into the small clearing. For the first time since this entire fiasco began, he smiled. Al's timing was perfect.

"Brother!" he cried. "Brother, stop!" he said, catching Edward's raving fists. "I'm right here. Leave the Colonel's back alone."

"Al?" he asked, quieting down immediately. "You're okay?"

Roy heaved an internal sigh of relief that his spine echoed. Al's voice had done the trick.

"Of course I am," Alphonse replied. "Colonel Mustang made me leave the hotel first and then went to find and bring you out."

"I would never willingly leave your brother in danger, Fullmetal. You know that." Mustang's voice held a trace of anger and a lot of exasperation. Crouching down, Roy placed the boy on his feet and stood back up, groaning and rubbing the spots where Edward had hit him, wincing as he did. "Thank you, Fullmetal. As if I haven't gone through enough this evening, I have to add bruises from your fists."

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I just… For some reason…"

"What?" Roy asked absentmindedly, still trying to alleviate the pain screaming in his back.

"I thought you'd left my brother behind," he said in a rush. "Logic flew out the window—I panicked. Sorry, Colonel," he said in a rush

He sighed. "Don't worry about it, Ed. But I thought you knew better than that. Why would I place either of you in danger willingly?" he asked, his voice slightly hurt. _Wow,_ he thought. _I **am** tired. Normally, I'd have more snarky comebacks. Normally, that wouldn't have even fazed me._

"Oh?" Ed replied, crossing his arms; a predatory gleam lit up his amber-gold eyes. With the fire enhancing their color, he looked positively demonic. "And all those assignments where we had to fight our way out of? Lior, for instance?" he asked. "Xenotime, where we had to deal with a corrupt land owner? And how about Youswell?"

"I never ordered you to go to Xenotime," he retorted. "That was strictly your doing on the word of a thief. Whatever mishaps you suffered there were entirely your fault."

Neither of them saw Alphonse roll his eyes and heave an exasperated sigh. _Here they go again,_ he thought. "Uh…guys, perhaps this isn't the place for this? They could be looking for us… the people that started the fire…"

"Not now, Al," Ed said. "And how do you explain the other two places? A fake priest and corrupt government official that made _you_ look good."

"Brother, please," Al tried again, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "This really isn't the time for this. I think I can hear voices coming in this direction…"

"Just a minute, Alphonse," Mustang said, cutting him off. "Were you honestly in danger in Lior? Are you telling me that the Fullmetal Alchemist can't even hold his own against a charlatan masquerading as priest, or a greedy Lieutenant? That's what I thought," he said smirking at a furious Edward.

"Bastard!"

"Pipsqueak."

"What was that? Want to say that to my face?" Ed asked, fist up and ready to leap.

"No, I don't. You're too short. I'd have to bend too far to reach you and my back already hurts, thanks to you."

Alphonse's rarely used temper rose to the surface. Honestly, if he didn't know better, he would have thought they'd turned back into children with the way they were bickering—well, Ed at least. The Colonel was the Colonel—there was no way to explain _him_. Either way, this wasn't the time or place for this! He really could hear voices, and if this continued, they'd be found for sure. Before either could get another word out, Al smacked them both upside the head and leveled a glare at their surprised faces.

"We don't have time for this," he bit out slowly and precisely. "I really _can_ hear voices coming in the direction of the hotel. If they find us, we really _will_ be in trouble. I don't think any of us are up to fighting right now." He turned to Edward. "Brother, Colonel Mustang's right: we weren't really in trouble in Lior or Youswell. He'd never willingly put us in the kind of danger we couldn't get out of."

_Thanks Alphonse. Way to make me look good,_ Roy thought sardonically, wondering how to reply to what the younger Elric had said. He didn't have time to, however. He heard them too. Tensing, his eyes narrowed—he forgot about his aching back and the small but amusing spat he'd just had with Ed, and clamped a hand over the blond's mouth and made a motion for silence with his other. "Not a word," he said, his voice low.

………

"Honey! Honey, wake up!"

Blinking sleepily, Komura Mishimi looked up at his wife's frightened face in the flickering, orange light. _Aww,_ he thought, his head still fuzzy from sleep, _how cute! I'll bet she had a nightmare, the poor dear._ "There, there," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "It'll be okay."

"Really?" she asked, staring over his shoulder.

"Of course," he said, nodding decisively, not noticing that his wife's attention was on everything but him.

"You might try telling that to the burning building."

"Burning building? What burning building?" he asked, looking down at her and frowning.

Wordlessly, she continued to stare out the window. Taking her hint, he pivoted and looked out the window; he was out of bed and staring from it half a moment later. _Damn them,_ he thought savagely. _Damn them all! How could they? Michi-kun's place! He built it with his own two hands!_ He flew around the room, tossing on clothes and seething with rage. _Is **this** what we are teaching our children to do every time a stranger comes and asks us questions we don't wish to answer? May the gods have mercy on us!_ Before leaving, he turned and looked at his wife solemnly, regret showing plainly.

"I'm sorry," he told her.

"Don't be. Shiguna told me that there were kids with that man. If they live, any of them, I'll have a room ready."

His heart swelled. His wife wasn't the most beautiful woman—no Minakaru was their island belle—but she was definitely the wisest and kindest of the women—the perfect compliment to the village leader. "My gut tells me they're not stupid enough to fall for this attempt," he told her, pulling on a jacket. Crossing the room again, he gave her a quick kiss and left without looking back.

Outside, he started to run towards the blaze that had been an inn, hoping that what he'd just told his wife was true.

………

_A new person showed up,_ Roy thought, exasperated. _It's a regular jamboree. Hip-hip-hooray. _Glancing around, he decided to risk moving further back into the woods while they were all occupied. They'd been extremely fortunate thus far, but the seasoned soldier was aware of how far luck would take him.

The newcomer was vaguely familiar and for a second, Mustang wanted nothing more than to figure out where he'd seen the man—but no, there wasn't time. While the newest latecomer was screaming at the other gathered individuals, they could move into the foliage behind them. "Slowly and quietly make your way into the trees. Be prepared to run if any of them turn, understand?"

They both nodded.

"All right, then. Quickly, now—_go_!"

As quietly as they were able, they snuck into the woodland behind them.

………

"For your sakes," he said sternly to the chagrined men in front of him, "I certainly hope Arashimichi understands." He crossed his arms and looked at the sea of flames in front of him. Wiping away the gathered sweat, he added, "But I wouldn't bet on it. He built this house as a bridal gift for his late wife and converted it to an inn at her request. It took him five years to complete it and now, just to get rid of some strangers, you've burned it down."

"Mishi-kun, they were asking about the jewel as if they knew about it already!"

"His family grew up in that house," Komura said to himself, outwardly ignoring the gathered group. "What, I wonder," he said fixing the speaker with an icy glare, "will you tell your wife? She grew up there, too. His favorite child, if I recall correctly."

"He's not going to listen," another said. "Don't waste your breath. We know that we did what we had to do."

"You 'did what you had to do'?" he repeated with an air of incredulity. "You went ahead with murder and call it necessity?"

"Yes!" the man said hotly. "We can't let the story of the jewel get out."

"There's no talking to any of you," he said, with disgust.

"And there's no getting points across to you!"

Komura Mishimi snapped at that comment. Crossing over to the man, he grabbed his shirt and dragged him closer until their noses were almost touching. "Kentamaru, you, of all people should know that it doesn't help the jewel become pure if we commit murder in its name!" he snarled. "They were innocent people and on top of that, two of them were children. How could you be so deranged?"

Disgusted and sick, he shoved the man away from him before he could answer and turned his back on the motley group. "Don't come crying to me when Arashimichi doesn't understand and becomes angry with you. You've made your beds, gentlemen; now sleep in them." With that, he walked off. When he was far enough away, he made a detour.

………

_He's gone. That's good,_ Mustang thought. The men who'd gathered were starting to depart. Soon it would be safe for them to move away from the area and find a secluded place—preferably a cave—to rest in until the dawn. _Once morning has come, people will be busy here. A perfect time to search for that shrine and get the hell out of here._ His dark eyes trailed to his left where Edward and Alphonse were standing and chatting quietly. He knew Ed was about ready to drop even though he stifled his yawns; Al could see it, too. Roy himself was tired, but he could afford to go without sleep for the remainder of the night—it was nothing he hadn't done before. _I think we need to move now while they're watching the fire or leaving._

Before he could turn to the two brothers, he stiffened when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Swiftly turning he gasped in surprise. "You!" he exclaimed.

………

"And that's it," Hughes said.

For a few minutes, Major General Hakuro was absolutely floored. There was no possible way. "Tell me I misheard you," he said sharply.

Maes just shook his head.

"Do you understand what you've told me?" he asked.

"Of course I do. To translate it for the normal person, they are not on a sanctioned mission—it's covert. So covert that it doesn't exist on paper. They're on their own."

"Which means the military can't step in and help them if they get in trouble. Hell, Maes, they can't even _contact_ us if they were!"

"The kids, sir."

Hakuro's hand flew to his mouth and he looked at the kids warily. His son shifted, but otherwise seemed asleep—seemed, being the key word. He beckoned to Hughes and moved away from the children. When they were a suitable enough distance away, he resumed.

"Why would Fuhrer Bradley allow such a mission?"

"You find it strange, too?" Hughes asked. "On top of that, this isn't the first time he's supported Ed's hunt for the Philosopher's Stone."

"How long has it been going on, this support?"

"Since they first began searching for it," Maes answered. "Despite the fact that Ed's gotten absolutely nowhere and come back with absolutely nothing concrete, Fuhrer Bradley still dispenses what seem to be hefty funds to their quest."

Major General Hakuro whistled softly. "For a man who flat-out doesn't believe in the existence of the stone, he's certainly very generous."

"Say again?"

"The Fuhrer doesn't believe in the existence of the stone. He's said so to both Gran and me hundreds of times. Yet for some reason… he supports anyone trying to find it. That's why Marcoh was able to conduct the research he did and get as far as he did." He slanted Hughes a look. "I assume you know how we won the rebellion?"

"Yes, sir," Hughes replied blandly, not bothering to add Roy's opinion that it was a massacre.

"And the shop's owner has what to do with all of this?" the Major General asked.

"She's the reason Ed, Al, and Colonel Mustang are on the mission."

"I'm not following you."

Casting a look back at the kids, Maes turned and walked towards the door.

"Ah, Hughes?" Hakuro called, wondering what the detective was up to.

There was no answer, but Hughes turned to the other man and motioned him to follow. Curious, he followed him as he made his way down the dimly lit hall to a locked door. Hakuro looked at Maes questioningly.

"It's my study," he said, pulling an odd-looking key from his pocket. It was the size of the average house key—but the smooth metal of the handle was replaced with a fitted piece, a stone of sorts. No, it wasn't a stone—it was glass: glass that held smoldering reds and burning oranges inside it that twisted and squirmed for dominance over each other. It reminded Hakuro of a fire.

"Gracia doesn't come in here because she knows I work at night sometimes," he told the other man, turning the key. Red light gleamed briefly in the dark hall, eerily illuminating the smiling figure of Maes Hughes; Hakuro heard the tumblers click. "But Elysia… well, she's a child and children are always curious when they're young—not that I have to tell you that," Maes said, grinning, as he stepped into the room. For a moment, Hakuro was convinced that he was about to be showered with pictures of Maes's baby girl. He waited with baited breath for the photos to appear and prayed that he wouldn't be subjected to Elysia's entire life: his sanity just couldn't handle it right then.

When the pictures didn't appear, he was stunned. It was unlike Maes to pass up the opportunity of showing off his daughter. He was further surprised when the usually picture-ready man beckoned for him to join him in the room. Taking a deep breath, and hoping is luck would hold, he followed Maes in—praying the photographs wouldn't shower him from some obscure bucket hanging above the threshold. He closed his eyes and stepped into the room.

There were no pictures floating from the ceiling.

The room itself was sparsely furnished. From the light in the hall, he could see the desk sitting across from a curtained window; it was neatly kept and held a few folders and books in the corners. The heavy fabric draped over the window surprised him—it blocked out all the light and prevented passersbyfrom peeking in. He wondered how many people in the neighborhood were curious about Maes's work. A large rug sat under the couch, coffee table, and desk. With the sparse light, he couldn't make out the color or the design on it. When Maes turned on the light however, he was able to make out the details.

The rug was a buttery yellow and had flowers on it. It was decidedly feminine—Gracia's handiwork, no doubt she'd picked it. His eyes traveled to the bookshelf lining the wall behind the desk. Most of the shelves were full and neatly organized—a few shelves had books leaning against each other: he assumed that the books on the desk were the missing ones from the bookshelf. The one prominent decoration however, was the pictures. At least they didn't contain just Elysia. There were pictures of Maes and Gracia together doing various activities: shopping, the park, Gracia pregnant. A few contained just Hughes and Mustang. And then there were a few with Ed and Al. He moved over to one that sat on the end table next to the couch. It was a younger Edward, Al, a young girl he didn't know, and Hughes; in the picture, Hughes was laughing at a sulking Edward.

"Ed's twelfth birthday," Hughes said, walking over to stand beside him. "The same night my precious daughter was born."

Hakuro looked at him. "I see," he said, looking back down at the picture.

Maes nodded. "The poor boys. Imagine being that age and being stuck with a woman trying to give birth."

"Where were you?"

Maes chuckled. "I went to fetch the doctor during a bad snow storm."

"You left your wife with three children while she was giving birth? And you're still alive?"

"Apparently so."

"Amazing," Hakuro said, shaking his head. He fell silent for a few minutes, simply gazing around at the simplicity of the office—the simplicity that had a key connected to alchemy. "I thought you weren't an alchemist, Hughes."

The investigator just smiled. He wasn't surprised that Hakuro asked. "You know very well I'm not."

"Explain your lock and key, then."

"Is that a challenge?" Hughes asked, his ivy-green eyes amused.

Hakuro narrowed his own in response. "It's not. I'm just curious. Mustang did that for you, didn't he?" he asked, nodding to the pocket where the key was.

"I asked him to," Maes replied, nodding.

"Why?"

For a few moments, Hughes didn't answer. Finally, "Just a precaution," came the light answer.

"Precaution, eh?" Hakuro left it at that. It wasn't his business how Maes secured his home. He sat on the couch. "So let me rehash this. Colonel Mustang and Edward were given permission to go to an unknown chain of islands to search for the Philosopher's Stone. And it's not on paper," he finished.

Maes just watched him steadily, with his arms crossed loosely over his stomach and his expression unreadable.

"Why did Mustang agree to that?"

"For Edward."

Those two words, simplistic though they were, had the Major General staring at his subordinate in shock. "For Edward?" he asked, incredulously. "What do you mean: 'for Edward'? Is there some sort of affair going on—"

"Of course not!" Hughes snapped before he could finish, his face and eyes angry and disgusted; his arms tightened around his stomach like he was trying to keep himself from leaping and strangling the senior officer. "I'm shocked that you of all people would suggest such a thing! Roy's too much of a ladies' man to even notice other men that way! Haven't you ever listened to the other guys complain and bitch about how he's always stealing their girlfriends?"

Now that Maes mentioned it… he had heard that all too often before Mustang had been transferred to the East.

"Besides," Hughes said, "Edward's a child."

There was always that, too. Hakuro looked at Hughes, shame-faced. "Forgetting that I even asked such a question, why would Mustang accept such an odd mission for Edward? And don't tell me you can't say. There's something very odd about that boy. I proctored his exam, I saw what he did, and I've never, ever seen another alchemist able to do the same."

"The same what?" Hughes asked with interest.

"Haven't you ever seen the boy work alchemy?"

"You're talking about him using alchemy without arrays, right?"

Hakuro nodded. "So you do know. I should have suspected as much. And then there's his limbs—the metal ones."

"What about them?"

"I don't believe Colonel Mustang for a minute when he says that they're from an old battle."

"Why not? There was an old battle there right around the time they were younger."

"Just how did that affect them? What parent would let their children near a battle?"

"Perhaps Edward snuck out."

"An alchemist's son sneaking out?"

Well. There wasn't much he could say to _that_. He sighed. General Hakuro had him there. "I can't tell you," he said finally and raised a hand to forestall the protest he saw building in Hakuro's eyes. "I don't know all of Ed's history. Roy's the only one that does, besides Alphonse and the Rockbells. What I do know is that Mustang watches out for those children. I don't know just why, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he's trying to make amends."

"For what, exactly?"

"The past."

Before the general could continue questioning, he heard Gracia call to her husband.

"In my study, dear!" Maes called, his face changing. This conversation of theirs was now over. Hakuro's own wife couldn't be far behind. It was time to wrap up this discussion for now and continue it at a later date.

Standing the Major General looked at Hughes and said quietly, "Something about this entire situation just doesn't add up. I want you to continue to investigate this. I want to know just why our Fuhrer would send some of our best alchemists on a mission that doesn't exist on paper. You will report your results to no one but me. If the Fuhrer asks, you're simply investigating some of your associates to make certain that they're using their time for military matters. Are we clear?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you willing to do this?" Hakuro asked. "This puts you in a difficult position as an Investigator."

"I am," Hughes responded, his green eyes unwavering and decisive. "I want to know why this mission was created in the first place—especially since Fuhrer Bradley does not believe in the existence of the Philosopher's Stone."

"Good. Then it's settled. I'll have paperwork for you tomorrow. Come by my office."

"Just one thing, sir."

"Yes?"

"Keep Lieutenant Archer away from me, please."

Hakuro couldn't help it. He sniggered at Hughes's request. "You did throw a knife at him, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Major General, sir."

Hakuro grinned knowingly. "All right, have it your way then. I'll keep Archer away from you. Just make sure your knives continue to miss."

………

"Be quiet! Are you trying to draw their attention to you and the kids?" Komura growled at Mustang.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered fiercely. He relaxed his arm and readied his fingers to snap if need be.

"Come with me quickly!"

"Eh?" The order snapped Mustang out of soldier-mode. "What do you mean, 'come with you'?" he demanded. "How do I know you're not about to lead us to those people who're hunting for us?"

"You don't," Komura said. "All you can do is trust me."

"Trust you, eh?" Roy was tired, not stupid. "Like we trusted you to be a reasonable soul when we first stopped you to ask a question. What happened then?" he asked, cradling his chin in his fingers and pretending to think hard. "Ah, yes, you slugged a fifteen-year-old kid in the stomach."

"Look, I'll admit I lost my cool. Your question took me by surprise…" he trailed off and looked at them with a contemplative look. "You know what, we don't have time for this. They're still after you. And if they find you, I can't help you." With that, he did something that surprised the Flame Alchemist. Roy thought the man was lunging for him—instead, he shot past Mustang, grabbed Edward around the bicep, and hauled him away from them.

"Brother!" Al cried, trying to snatch him back.

But the man danced away from them, ignoring Ed's thrashing and clawing at his hand, turned back to Al and Roy, and said, "Now let's go!"

Hostage situation. They had no choice now. Roy's eyes narrowed. "That's low."

"Yeah, yeah," came the reply. "You can tell my wife what a bastard I am when we get to my house."

"I'll be sure to," Ed said, still trying to pry the man's hand off him.

"Stop your struggling, Ed." Mustang ordered abruptly.

Surprised, the blond did as told.

Mustang walked over to their uninvited guest. "Why didn't you tell us you were offering us sanctuary?"

"You obviously remember me and don't trust me. Would you have believed me?"

The Flame Alchemist exhaled forcibly. "No, I wouldn't have. Lead the way. Come on, Alphonse."

"But—"

"Do as he says, Al," Ed muttered, looking at the ground.

Nodding, Mishimi turned around and began to walk away, dragging a stumbling, cursing Edward behind him. Roy matched his pace and leaned towards the other man. "If you ever punch my subordinate again, I won't just burn your _finger_," he said, pleasantly with a polite smile on his lips.

Mishimi blanched. "Understood."

"Just thought you should know," he said, "since we trust one another."

_Scary bastard!_ Mishimi thought.

His wife was waiting for them on the back doorstep and aimed a disapproving look at him. He gave her a sheepish grin and she shook her head at him as he dragged Edward into the house. Al followed instantly and Mustang brought up the rear. He inclined his head respectfully to her and she reciprocated.

"Forgive him," she said in his ear as he passed.

He hesitated for a moment. "Perhaps," he said, looking straight ahead. "But you're asking one person too few for that."

She rested her head against the moldings and sighed. "He always did have a temper." She shut the door and turned to her new guests. "Are any of you injured?"

The two kids looked at Mustang and he smiled. "Just some bruises. They'll fade soon. Please don't worry about me."

She nodded. If that was the way he wanted it, neither she nor her husband would argue. "Komura will show you to your room. I'll be along shortly." She gave her husband a look that told him arguing would be dangerous to his health.

Nodding, he motioned for the three alchemists to follow him and led the way upstairs.

The room was nice, spacious. It had three double beds that were made and looked inviting. Roy was suddenly aware of just how tired he really was. He didn't even bother trying to fight off a large yawn.

"Why did you grab me?" Edward asked their host.

Mustang turned; his eyes, which had been about to droop shut from sheer exhaustion snapped back into focus. He wanted to know why, too.

"Isn't it obvious, kiddo?"

Ed growled shortly. "Don't call me 'kiddo'!" he snapped. "And if it were obvious, I wouldn't be asking!"

Mishimi rolled his eyes, wondering how the kid could be so clueless. Didn't he see whose life meant more in this situation? Apparently not. "Because you're more precious."

"Eh? What the hell do you mean by that?"

Komura rolled his eyes at the blond-haired boy. "You really live up to your hair color, you know that? How can you not see that? If I grabbed him, he'd have told you to run and you two would have. You'd still be out in the woods, making more work for me to find you and increasing your chances of being found by someone much less friendly. So instead of grabbing your guardian here, I grabbed you—because logically, seizing your brother here," he said, gesturing to Al, "was not an option. Any more stupid questions?"

"Che! Like I want to talk to someone who slugged me earlier!" Ed said petulantly.

"Good. Then go to bed. I'm sure you're all exhausted. I know I am."

"Yeah, yeah, goodnight and all that!" Edward said, his nose in the air.

"Brother!" Alphonse scolded.

Mishimi turned around, intent on going back to his warm bed after being reamed by his wife for his crimes against children, when he remembered one more important thing. "By the way," he said, pausing at the door and looking over his shoulder at them. "You'll want to be on your way very early. The shrine you're looking for isn't far from the inn where you were staying. It's about three miles northwest in a small cave at the base of the hill. I wish you the best of luck," he told them. "May the gods keep you safe."

With that, he left the room and returned to his own.

………

In the pre-dawn gray, three figures stealthily hurried towards their destination located three miles northwest of a burned down inn. When they reached the remains of the hotel, one of the figures stopped and stared at the wreck, his golden eyes reflecting sorrow, pain, and above all else, indignation. This wasn't right. It shouldn't have happened. And this time, he was going to correct it.

"Edward! What do you think you're doing? We've got to move!" Mustang barked.

"Just a minute, Colonel; we have a little time before they get up."

"Precious little!"

"There's a storm headed this way." He pointed to the angry thunderhead clouds that were swelling rapidly. "They're not going to do much today anyhow."

"All the better reason for us to _move_ while we have the _time_, Fullmetal."

The blond still didn't budge. Realizing that nothing would get through to the young alchemist until he'd accomplished what he wanted to do, Mustang sighed and walked over to him.

"This wasn't fair," Edward whispered harshly. Roy could hear him trying to hold back tears. He wondered if he should let him cry this once. "Why did they have to suffer? They didn't do anything except give us a place to stay for a night!"

"A few hours, actually," Mustang quipped.

"And now they have no home," Ed continued, as if he hadn't heard him speak. He stared blindly at what had not twelve hours ago been a lovely inn. "That man's going to come back a happy grandfather and find that his house, the one he built from scratch with his own two hands, is gone. All because some stupid fanatics couldn't handle three people asking questions!" Ed's voice rapidly climbed in volume.

Roy said nothing; he simply stood next to him surveying the damage. He was right: it wasn't fair. And it shouldn't have happened. But the reality was that it did. That didn't make up for it, and it didn't bring back anything lost. A few tears made their way down Ed's cheeks before he hurriedly wiped them away and stifled them before it became anything more.

"Brother," Alphonse said, his tone clearly worried.

"But this time, we can do something about it. _I_ can do something about it. I can make it right." He took a few steps closer.

"Brother, wait."

Roy grabbed Alphonse's wrist and held it. The metal helmet turned and looked back at him. He simply shook his head. "Let him be for a minute, Al. He needs to do this."

"But Colonel, I don't think he's just talking about this incident."

"Probably not," Mustang agreed. "But if this helps ease his conscience, then it's best to let him do it. We're not military men here, Al. He can be human." He turned his face up to the sky. "Besides, they're not going to do much today anyways. What's a small miracle or two?" he asked.

They heard a telltale clap and felt a massive release of energy. They both turned and watched the ruins shift and reshape themselves, the already broken-down components reforming to what they'd been. Roy was familiar with Ed's work, but even this left him slightly stunned. He didn't know of another alchemist who could have managed this—with an array or without. It took three minutes, five at the most, before the inn stood before them, returned to its former glory. Roy smirked. Really, the boy was amazing.

When Ed returned, he looked significantly more calm and at peace with himself. Mustang smiled and released Alphonse. "Feeling better, Fullmetal One?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Good. Then let's get going—we've got ourselves a jewel to find. I'll overlook your mutiny this time, Edward. Don't expect me to be so nice in the future."

"Bite me, Colonel!" he snarled at the older man, balling his automail hand.

That would be a painful punch and Roy couldn't let that happen. "Why Ed, was that an _offer_?" he asked, pulling on his glove and grinning at the fuming blond. "I'd be more than happy to let you taste my flames."

Clapping, the blond transfigured his arm. "Bring it on, Colonel! I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"

Alphonse glared at both of them. Huffing angrily, he walked up behind them. Twin shouts of pain had the birds taking off into the air, wondering why the morning wasn't quiet like it usually was, and a seven-foot suit of armor stomped away. Mustang and Ed rubbed their heads and stared after him.

"Let's _go_, children," he called back. "We have something to find."

"Your brother's scary," the Flame Alchemist whispered.

"Yeah, you're not kidding," Ed said, whispering back. "Let's go, before he becomes angrier. I don't want to find out what he's like if that happens!" So saying, the blond scampered off, calling to his brother to wait for him.

Roy dropped his hand back to his side and stood there, watching them walk off, a small smirk on his face. He turned and looked at the restored inn and the smirk became a smile. Really, that boy… he was something else. He was oddly glad they were in his care, rather than their father's. Hoenheim didn't deserve to see this, or see how much they'd both changed, progressed. If he ever met the man who'd abandoned his family, he would absolutely rub it in. With the smile still on his face, he began to follow his two charges.

**A/N:** So that ends chapter four. It didn't work out quite like I'd planned, but I'm still happy with how it turned out. The tentative post of chapter four at the end of three is being moved to chapter five. In that chapter, Maes will most definitely confront Kagura and Ed, Roy, and Al will make it back to the Feudal Era. Stay tuned!


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